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Voltaire, From The Works of Voltaire, A Contemporary Version, (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901), A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming. Vol. IX The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Alzire, Orestes, Sémiramis, Catiline, Pandora) and Part II (The Scotch Woman, Nanine, The Prude, The Tatler).
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The WORKS of VOLTAIRE

“Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation. * * * * Let us say it with a sentiment of profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED. Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the sweetness of the present civilisation.”

VICTOR HUGO.

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College of Du Page Instructional Resources Center

Glen Ellyn, Illinois

Presented by

Mr. & Mrs.

Henry A. Diekmann

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THE WORKS OF VOLTAIRE

A CONTEMPORARY VERSION

A CRITIQVE & BIOGRAPHY BY The RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY Notes by Tobias Smollelt Revised and Modernized New Translations by William F. Fleming and an Introduction by Oliver H.G.Leigh

In his preface to this play Voltaire says; “This tragedy, the fable of which is invented, and almost of a new species, was written with a view of showing how far superior the spirit of true religion is to the light of nature. The religion of a barbarian consists in offering up to his gods the blood of his enemies; a Christian badly instructed has seldom much more humanity: to be a strict observer of some unnecessary rites and ceremonies, and at the same time deficient in the most essential duties, to say certain prayers at particular times, and carefully to conceal his vices; this is his religion: that of a true Christian is to look upon all mankind as his brethren, to do them all the good in his power and pardon their offences: such is Guzman at the hour of death, and Alvarez during the whole course of his life; such a man was Henry IV., as I have described him, even with all his foibles: in every part of my writings I have endeavored to enforce that humanity which ought to be the distinguishing characteristic of a thinking being: the reader will always find in them (if I may venture to say so much of my own works) a desire to promote the happiness of all men, and an abhorrence of injustice and oppression: it is this, and this alone, which hath hitherto saved them from that obscurity to which their many inperfections would otherwise long since have condemned them.”

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ACT I.

SCENE I.

alvarez, guzman.

alvarez.

At length, for so the council hath decreed,

Guzman succeeds Alvarez; long, my son,

Mayest thou preserve for heaven and for thy king

This better half of our new conquered world,

This fertile source of riches and of crimes!

Joyful to thee I yield the post of honor,

That suits but ill with feeble age like mine;

In youth thy father trod the paths of glory;

Alvarez first our winged castles bore

To Mexico’s astonished sons; he led

Spain’s gallant heroes to this golden shore:

After a life spent in my country’s service,

Could I have formed these heroes into men,

Could I have made them virtuous, mild, and good,

I had been amply paid for all my toils:

But who shall stop the haughty conqueror?

Alas! my son, their cruelties obscure

The lustre of their fame; I weep the fate

Of these unhappy victors, raised by heaven

To greatness but to be supremely wicked.

O Guzman, I am verging to the grave,

Let me but live to see thee govern here

As justice shall direct thee, and I die

With pleasure.

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guzman.

By thy great example fired,

With thee I fought and conquered for my country;

From thee must learn to rule: it is not mine

To give the wise and good Alvarez laws,

But to receive them from him.

alvarez.

No; my son,

The sovereign power can never be divided:

Worn down with years and labor, I resign

All worldly pomp; it is enough for me

If yet my feeble voice be sometimes heard

To counsel and direct thee; trust me, Guzman,

Men are not creatures one would wish to rule:

To that almighty being, whom too long

I have neglected, would I consecrate

My poor remains of life; one boon alone,

As friend, I ask of thee, as father claim;

To give me up those slaves who by your order

Are here confined; this day, my son, should be

A day of pardon, marked by clemency,

And not by justice.

guzman.

A request from you

Is a command; but think, my lord, I beg,

What dangers may ensue: a savage people,

But half subdued, and to the yoke of slavery

Bending reluctant, ready for revolt,

Should never be familiar with their conquerors,

Or dare to look on those they should be taught

To tremble at: unarmed with power and vengeance

They would despise us: these untutored Indians,

Fiery and bold, ill brook the galling rein

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Of servitude, by chastisement alone

Made tame, and humble, pardoned once, they think

You fear them; power, in short, is lost by mildness;

Severity alone insures obedience.

The brave Castilian serves in honor’s cause,

With cheerful resignation, ’tis his pride,

His glory; but inferior nations court

Oppression; force and only force constrains them:

Did not the gods of these barbarians drink

The blood of men, they would not be adored.

alvarez.

And can a Christian, as thou art, approve

These tyrant maxims, the detested offspring

Of narrow policy? are these the means

To win the wild barbarian to our faith?

Thinkest thou to rule them with an iron hand,

And serve a God of peace with war and slaughter?

Braved I for this the burning tropic’s rage,

And all the terrors of a world unknown,

To see our country cursed, our faith disgraced?

God sent us here for other purposes,

Sent us to make his holy name revered,

His sacred laws beloved: whilst we, my son,

Unmindful of that faith which we profess,

The laws we teach, and all the tender ties

Of soft humanity, insatiate still

For blood and gold, instead of winning o’er

These savages by gentle means, destroy them.

All is confusion, death, and horror round us,

And nought have we of heaven but its thunder;

Our name indeed bears terror with it; Spain

Is feared, but hated too: we are the scourge

Of this new world, vain, covetous, unjust;

In short, I blush to own it, we alone

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Are the barbarians here: the simple savage,

Though fierce by nature, is in courage equal,

In goodness our superior. O my Guzman,

Had he, like us, been prodigal of blood,

Had he not felt the throbs of tender pity,

Alvarez had not lived to speak his virtues:

Hast thou forgot that day, when by a crowd

Of desperate natives I was circled in

On every side, and all my faithful band

Of followers cut off; alone I stood,

And every moment looked for death, when, lo;

At mention of my name, they dropped their arms;

And straight a young American approached me,

Embraced my knees, and bathed them with his tears;

And “is it you,” he cried, “is it my friend?

Live, good Alvarez, virtue pure as thine

May be most useful to us; be a father

To the unhappy; let thy tyrant nation,

That would enslave us, learn from hence—to pardon,

And own a savage capable of virtue.”

I see you are moved; O hearken to the voice

Of mild humanity, by me she speaks,

By me addresses Guzman; O my son,

Canst thou expect the object of thy wishes,

The fair Alzire ever will crown thy hopes,

If thou art cruel? thinkest thou to cement

The dearest bonds of nature in the blood

Of her loved countrymen, or shall their groans

Be heard, and Guzman soften into mercy?

guzman.

’Tis your command, my lord, and I submit;

They have their freedom, but on this condition,

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For so our laws require, they must be Christians:

To quit their idols, and embrace our faith,

Alone can save them; we must bend by force

Their stubborn hearts, and drag them to the altar;

One king must be obeyed, one God adored.

alvarez.

Hear me, my son, I wish, as much as Guzman,

That truth may fix her sacred empire here,

That neither heaven nor Spain henceforth may find

A foe on earth; but know, the heart oppressed

Is never conquered: I force none, yet I

Have conquered many; the true God, my son,

The God of Christians is a God of mercy.

guzman.

You’ve conquered, sir, the father over his son

Is absolute; and you, my lord, would soften

The hardest heart, whilst virtue by Alvarez

In mildest accents pleads her powerful cause:

O since kind heaven to thee hath lent the art

Of soft persuasion, use it for thy son,

On thee alone depends the happiness

Of Guzman’s life: the proud Alzire scorns

My proffered hand: I love her but too well,

Heaven knows how dearly! but I cannot stoop

Meanly to sooth a haughty woman’s pride,

I cannot make myself a poor tame slave

To her imperious will; but thou hast power

O’er the fair tyrant’s father; talk to him

For the last time; let him command his daughter

To take my hand, and make your Guzman happy;

And yet it hurts my soul to think Alvarez

Should stoop so low, and be a suppliant for me.

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alvarez.

Already I have spoke, and Montezuma

Hath seen his daughter; she will soon be thine.

I’ve been a friend to his unhappy race,

And soothed the sorrows of captivity:

Already he hath quitted his false gods;

Alzire too, a convert to our faith,

To this new world shines forth a bright example.

She only can unite the jarring nations,

And make us happy; thy long wished-for nuptials

Shall join two distant globes; these fierce barbarians,

Who now detest our laws, when they shall see

The daughter of their king in Guzman’s arms,

Cheerful beneath thy easy yoke shall bend

Their willing hearts, and soon be all our own:

But Montezuma comes; away, my son,

Expect me with Alzire at the altar.

SCENE II.

alvarez, montezuma.

alvarez.

At length, obedient to a father’s will,

Alzire yields, I hope, to thy persuasion.

montezuma.

If yet my daughter trembles at the thought

Of wedding him who has destroyed her race,

Alvarez will forgive a woman’s weakness;

For thou hast been a father to the wretched:

Thy gentle manners teach us to revere

That holy faith from whence they sprung; by thee

The will of heaven to this new world revealed,

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Enlightened our dark minds; what mighty Spain

Unconquered left, thy virtue has subdued:

Thy cruel countrymen’s remorseless rage

Had rendered even thy God detestable,

But that in thee His great perfections shine,

His goodness, and His mercy; in thy heart

We trace his image; Montezuma’s thine,

His daughter, and his house; the good Alvarez

Shall have them all: Potosi and Peru,

With my Alzire, shall descend to Guzman:

Prepare the nuptial rites, adorn your temple,

And let your son be ready to receive her:

Methinks it is as if the immortal beings

Had deigned to visit earth, and mix with men.

alvarez.

O Montezuma, let me live to see

This blest event, and I shall die content.

O God, whose gracious hand conducted us

To this new world, enlighten and preserve it;

Propitious smile on these first holy vows

Made at thy altar here! adieu, my friend,

To thee I owe my Guzman’s happiness.

SCENE III.

montezuma.

[Alone.

O thou true God, whose powerful arm destroyed

Those idle deities I once adored,

Watch o’er the poor remains of my sad life,

And sooth my sorrows; I have lost my all,

All but Alzire, O protect her youth,

Watch o’er her steps, and guide her tender heart!

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SCENE IV.

montezuma, alzire.

montezuma.

Daughter, the hour is come to make thyself

And the world happy, to command the conqueror,

And make the vanquished smile, restore thy country

To her lost honor, and to regal power

Rise from the bosom of adversity.

Alzire will obey, I know she will;

Dry up thy tears, a father must not see them.

alzire.

I have no will but yours; yet, O my lord,

See my despair, and look into my soul.

montezuma.

No more of that; thy word is passed, Alzire,

And I depend on it.

alzire.

’Twas extorted from me;

The cruel sacrifice: is this a time

To plight my faith, and think of nuptial joy,

This hapless day, when all I held most dear

Was ravished from me, when our wide-stretched empire

And all her hosts, the children of the sun,

Inglorious fell beneath the cruel Guzman?

O ’twas a day marked by the hand of heaven

As most unfortunate.

montezuma.

Our days, Alzire,

Are happy or unhappy from ourselves,

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And not from circumstance or accident,

As superstition taught our ancestors

To credit; think no more on it.

alzire.

On this day

My Zamor fell, our country’s great avenger,

My lover, chosen by thee, by thee, my father,

To be Alzire’s husband.

montezuma.

I have paid

The debt of sorrow due to Zamor’s ashes,

And hold his memory dear; but death has cancelled

Your mutual bonds; therefore no longer shed

Those fruitless tears, but carry to the altar

A free and cheerful heart; thy God commands,

He calls thee to him; if thou art a Christian,

Now hear his voice.

alzire.

Alas! my lord, I know

A father’s power, and know my duty to him,

’Tis to obey, to fall a sacrifice

Before him; I have passed the utmost bounds

Which nature ever prescribed; thy will alone

Hath been my law, nor did I ever stain

With disobedience my true faith, for thee

I left my country’s gods, and am a Christian:

Alas! my father, why wouldst thou deceive me,

Why tell me, the new deity I serve

Would bring me peace, that his all-healing power

Would ease my tortured heart? delusive promise!

For O my lord, the deadly poison still

Lurks in my veins, still Zamor’s image dwells

In his Alzire’s heart, nor time nor death

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Can e’er efface it: well I know Alvarez

Condemns that passion which he once approved:

But I will make him ample recompense

By my obedience:—wed me to the tyrant,

Give me to Guzman, ’tis a sacrifice

I owe my country; but remember, sir,

How dreadful ’tis, and tremble at the thought

Of such unnatural, such detested bonds,

Thou who condemnest me to these fatal nuptials,

Who bidst Alzire give her hand to Guzman,

And at the altar promise him a heart

Which is not hers to give.

montezuma.

What says my child?

O in the name of every tender tie

That binds thee to me, spare a wretched father!

Pity my age, and do not, by the woes

Which thou alone, Alzire, canst remove,

Let me entreat thee, O embitter not

The sad remainder of Alvarez’s life!

Have I not ever strove to make thee happy,

And wilt thou not return it? O my daughter,

Let virtue guide thy steps in duty’s path,

And lead thee on to bliss! thy country calls,

Wilt thou betray her? learn henceforth, Alzire,

To be the mistress of thyself.

alzire.

And must I

Learn to dissemble then? ungrateful task!

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SCENE V.

guzman, alzire.

guzman.

These long delays, Alzire, are unkind,

And, let me add, ungenerous, to the man

Who lives but to oblige you: for thy sake

I stopped the hand of justice; all those captives,

Whose pardon you solicited, are free:

But I should blush to think that Guzman owed

Thy kind compliance to so poor a service;

’Tis on thyself, and thy consenting heart,

He founds his hopes, nor thought I ever till now

My happiness could make Alzire wretched.

alzire.

Wretched indeed! O grant, kind heaven, this day

May not prove fatal to us both! you see

I am abashed, confounded, left a prey

To horror and despair: do not these eyes

Alone betray the anguish of a mind

Oppressed with grief? canst thou not read it there?

I know thou canst: such is my nature, Guzman;

Ne’er did Alzire’s face belie her heart:

Dissimulation and disguise, my lord,

Are European arts, which I abhor.

guzman.

I love thy frankness, but lament the cause;

Zamor is still beloved, his memory lives

Within thy breast, my rival even in death:

This is too much, Alzire; duty, honor,

Virtue forbid it: weep no more, it wounds

My heart, and I am jealous of thy tears.

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alzire.

Jealous of him, my lord, who in the grave

Is mouldering now, my loved, lamented Zamor?

For I confess I loved him, we were bound

By mutual vows, and still I weep his fate:

If thou art a friend to constancy and truth,

Thou wilt not blame my passion, but approve it.

By this, and this alone, may Guzman gain

Alzire’s heart.

SCENE VI.

guzman.

[Alone.

Her pride astonishes,

And yet I know not how her freedom charms me:

There is a savage beauty in her heart

That suits the wildness of her native clime;

But softer manners may subdue her mind,

And bind her stubborn fierceness to the yoke

Of duty; Guzman now is lord of all,

And nought remains unconquered but Alzire:

Resolved by force or art to make her mine,

Our hands, if not our hearts, shall be united.

End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

zamor, americans.

zamor.

My noble friends, and fellow-sufferers,

Whom dangers strengthen, and misfortunes make

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But more illustrious, shall we ne’er obtain

Our sweet revenge, or honorable death?

Still must we live unable or to serve

Alzire, or our country; shall we never

Find out the hated Guzman, and destroy

That fell destroyer? O my country’s gods,

Powerless and vain, ye gave up this fair land

Of liberty to hostile deities;

And tamely suffered a few wandering Spaniards

To spoil your altars, lay your temples waste,

And desolate our empire; I have lost

A kingdom and Alzire; all is gone

But shame, and sorrow, and resentment, those

I carried with me to the burning sands

And gloomy deserts; there I cherished long

The secret hopes of vengeance: you, my friends

Revived your drooping Zamor, and inspired

His soul with flattering thoughts of better days:

Deep in the forest’s shade we left a band

Of chosen spirits, resolute and bold,

And hither came, impatient to observe

The walls upraised by our tremendous foe.

They watched, and seized us: in a dungeon long

Confined, at length our tyrant masters grant us

Leave to walk forth, and breathe the wholesome air,

Yet will not deign to let us know our fate:

Can none inform me where we are, who dwells

Within this seat of sorrow? where’s Alzire,

Where’s Montezuma, lives he, is he free,

Or a vile slave like Zamor? say, my friends,

And partners in affliction, know ye not?

an american.

Like you, my lord, in chains, and hither led

By secret paths, we’re ignorant of all:

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Great Cacique, worthy of a better fate,

If ’tis decreed that thou must fall, at least

Thou shalt find friends prepared to perish with thee,

And own them not unworthy of their master.

zamor.

After a glorious victory, my friends,

A glorious death is most to be desired;

But O, to die in vile obscurity,

To perish thus in ignominious bondage,

To leave our bleeding country thus enslaved

By European robbers, those assassins

Whose thirst for blood and gold, these proud usurpers,

Who would extort by every cruel art

Of punishment those riches which we hold

More cheap, more worthless than themselves, to leave

My loved Alzire, Zamor’s dearer half,

To their licentious fury, O my friends,

’Tis worse than death: I tremble at the thought.

SCENE II.

alvarez, zamor, americans.

alvarez.

Live, and be free.

zamor.

Good heavens, what do I hear?

O unexpected sound! what God art thou

In human shape? a Spaniard, and forgive!

It cannot be: art thou the ruler here?

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alvarez.

No, captive; I am only the protector

Of innocence oppressed.

zamor.

Thou good old man,

What is thy office here?

alvarez.

To aid the wretched.

zamor.

What could inspire thee with a thought so noble?

alvarez.

My gratitude, religion, and my God.

zamor.

God and religion! what! these cruel tyrants,

These ruffians, that still bathed in human blood

Depopulate earth, and change the smiling face

Of nature to a dreary desert, they

Who worship avarice alone! their God

Cannot be thine!

alvarez.

It is the same, my son,

But they offend him, they disgrace his name,

And are indeed more guilty; they abuse

Their new-got power: thou knowest their crime, but know

My duty too: twice hath the travelling sun

Enlightened in his course our world and yours

Since a brave Indian, who he was I know not,

Stepped from amidst his fellow-savages,

And saved me from their fury; from that moment

I felt your sorrows, pitied your misfortunes,

And held you as my brethren and my friends;

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Could I but meet my kind deliverer,

That gallant stranger, I should die in peace.

zamor.

His age, his features, his transcendent virtue,

All, all conspire to say it is Alvarez:

Behold, and mark us well, canst thou distinguish

The hand that saved thee?

alvarez.

Gracious heaven! come near.

O Providence! it is, it must be he,

The wished-for object of my gratitude;

He whom these eyes, grown dim with age, have sought

So long in vain; my son, my benefactor,

What shall I do to serve thee? thou shalt live

With old Alvarez; he shall be thy father,

Thy guardian and protector here: kind heaven

In gracious pity hath prolonged my days,

That I might pay the debt I owe to thee.

zamor.

O if thy barbarous nation had possessed

But half the virtues that adorn Alvarez,

Our willing world had bowed submissive down

Before them; but their souls are not like thine,

For they delight in blood, whilst nature’s self

Abhorring shudders at their cruelty;

Death were more welcome far than life with them:

Urge me not therefore, good Alvarez, all

I wish to know is this, have they destroyed

My noble friend, the wretched Montezuma?

Where’s my Alzire’s father? O my lord,

Forgive these tears, the memory of past griefs

Sits heavy on me.

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alvarez.

Let them flow my son,

’Tis the best mark of our humanity:

The heart that feels not for another’s woe

Is fit for every crime: thy friend survives,

And full of years and honors lives with us

In happiness and peace.

zamor.

Might I behold him?

alvarez.

Yes; thou shalt see him soon: may his persuasion

Induce thee to think better of us all,

And follow his example!

zamor.

Can he live

With Christians, Montezuma live with Christians?

alvarez.

Have patience, son, and he shall tell thee all,

Touching our union, and the sacred bonds

That soon shall bind in cords of amity

Our world to thine—but I must to my son,

And let him know my happiness; I leave thee

But for a moment; fare thee well.

SCENE III.

zamor, americans.

zamor.

At last

Heaven seems to smile on Zamor; I have found

Amongst these vile barbarians one just man,

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Honest and true: Alvarez is a god,

Sent down from heaven to soften this rude world,

And bless mankind: he said he had a son,

That son shall be my brother and my friend,

If he is worthy of his noble father:

O glorious hope! shall I again behold

Great Montezuma after three long years?

Alzire too, my dear, my loved Alzire,

Shall I embrace thee, hast thou kept thy faith,

That first of virtues, to reward thy Zamor?

The heart oppressed is ever diffident:

Another old man comes this way: my soul

It still perplexed.

SCENE IV.

montezuma, zamor, americans.

zamor.

O noble Montezuma,

Do I once more embrace thee? see thy Zamor

Snatched from the jaws of death; he lives to save

And to defend his prince: behold thy friend,

Thy soldier, and thy son: O where’s Alzire?

Be quick, and tell me, let me know her fate,

My life depends on that.

montezuma.

Unhappy Cacique,

With grief sincere we have lamented thee;

Thy fellow-soldiers to thy memory raised

The decent tomb, and every honor paid

Due to thy virtues: but thank heaven! thou livest,

Henceforth may happier days await thee, Zamor!

But say, why camest thou hither?

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zamor.

To avenge

My gods, myself, my father and Alzire.

montezuma.

What sayst thou?

zamor.

Call to mind that dreadful day

When the fierce Spaniard, terrible in arms,

Rushed through our powerless hosts, o’erthrew our bulwarks,

And laid our empire waste; his name was Guzman:

That name, thou well rememberest, was the signal

Given for destruction; at that name they snatched

The sweet Alzire, thy loved daughter, from me,

And bore her to captivity with thee

And all thy race; destroyed the holy altar,

Where I had hoped to make Alzire mine,

Then dragged me to the tyrant: shall I tell thee

What cruel torments that insatiate monster

Inflicted on me, to extort confession

Of hidden gold, the Christian’s deity,

Which we despise and trample on? half-dead

They left me and retired: time, Montezuma,

Can never bury injuries like mine;

Thou seest me here, prepared for great revenge:

Some chosen friends, attached to Zamor’s cause,

By equal wrongs provoked, with equal hate

Inspired, await me in the neighboring forest,

Resolved with me to conquer or to die.

montezuma.

O Zamor, whither would thy headlong passion

Transport thee? wherefore wouldst thou thus pursue

That death which seems so willing to avoid thee?

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What can thy friends do for thee? their weak arms,

Their fish-bone spears, their sabres made of stone,

Their soldiers naked, and ill-disciplined,

Against these giants armed with mortal steel,

And launching their dread thunder bolts against thee?

Swift as the winds, their fiery coursers bear them

To certain victory; the world is theirs,

And we, my Zamor, must submit.

zamor.

Whilst life

Shall animate these veins, I never will:

No, Montezuma: their destructive thunder,

Their coats of steel, their fiery coursers taught

Like them to fight, and share their master’s glory,

This might affright, and terrify a while

Our gaping savages, but I behold

This pompous scene unruffled: to subdue

Our haughty foe one thing alone’s required,

And that is, not to fear them; novelty,

That conquers cowards, only has enslaved us:

Gold, that pernicious native of our soil,

Draws Europe hither, but defends us not

Against her; niggard nature has denied us

A nobler metal, her all-conquering steel,

And given it to barbarians; but kind heaven,

In lieu of this indulgence, hath bestowed

Virtues on us which Europe never knew.

I come to fight and conquer for Alzire.

montezuma.

Urge it no more, my Zamor, heaven declares

Against us, calm thy rage; the times are changed.

zamor.

Changed, didst thou say, my lord? it cannot be,

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If Montezuma’s heart is still the same,

If my Alzire’s faithful, if I live

Still in her memory.—Thou turnest aside

And weepest.

montezuma.

Unhappy Zamor!

zamor.

Am I not

Thy son? our tyrants have not altered thee?

They cannot, sure they cannot have corrupted

An old man’s heart, and made it false as theirs?

montezuma.

I am not guilty, Zamor, nor are all

These conquerors tyrants; some were sent by heaven

To guide our footsteps in the paths of truth,

To teach us arts unknown, immortal secrets,

The knowledge of mankind, the arts, my son,

To speak, to think, to live, and to be happy.

zamor.

O horrid! canst thou praise these ruffians, whilst

Thy daughter, thy Alzire, is their slave?

montezuma.

Zamor, Alzire’s free.

zamor.

Ha! Montezuma,

Alzire free? forgive me, but remember,

She’s mine, my lord, by every solemn tie;

You promised me, before the gods you promised,

To give her to me; they received our vows;

She is not perjured?

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montezuma.

Call not on those gods,

For they are vain, and fancied idols all;

I have abjured them, and henceforth must worship

That power supreme which hath subdued them.

zamor.

Ha!

The law of thy forefathers, thy religion,

Is that deserted?

montezuma.

I have found its weakness,

And left its vain chimeras: may the God

Of Gods convert thee, and inspire with truth

Thy unenlightened soul! unhappy Zamor,

Soon mayest thou know that Europe thou condemnest,

Her virtues, and her faith!

zamor.

What mighty virtues

Has she to boast? thou art indeed a slave

If thou hast lost thy gods, thy faith, thy honor,

And broke thy sacred word: Alzire too,

Has she betrayed me? O take heed!

montezuma.

My heart

Reproaches me for nothing: fare thee well!

I bless my own good fate, and weep for thine.

zamor.

If thou art false, thou hast cause to weep indeed:

Pity the torments which I feel for thee,

And for thy guilt; pity a heart distracted

By love and vengeance; let me find out Guzman

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Let me behold Alzire, let me fall

Beneath her feet; O do not hide her from me:

Conduct me, urge me not thus to despair,

Put on a human heart, let thy lost virtue—

SCENE V.

montezuma, zamor,Guards.

guard.

[To Montezuma.

The ceremony waits, my lord.

montezuma.

I come.

zamor.

Thou wilt not leave me? tell me, Montezuma,

What ceremony’s this.

montezuma.

No more: away,

And leave this fatal place.

zamor.

Though heaven itself

Forbade me, I would follow thee.

montezuma.

Forgive

My rude denial, Zamor, but you must not,

I say you must not—guards, prevent him—pagans

Must not profane our Christian altars; I

Command not here, but Guzman speaks by me:

You must obey: farewell.

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SCENE VI.

zamor, americans.

zamor.

What do I hear?

Guzman? O shameful treason! Montezuma

The slave of Guzman! where is virtue fled?

Alzire too, is my Alzire guilty?

Has she too drank corruption’s poisonous bowl

From these vile Christians?—that destroyer Guzman

Rules here, it seems; what’s to be done?

first american.

Permit me

To counsel you, my lord; the good old man

Who saved thee with his son will soon return,

He can deny you nothing; ask of him

Safe conduct to the city gates; that done,

We may return and join our noble friends

Against the foe: I doubt not of success:

We will not spare a man of them except

Alvarez, and his son: I’ve marked, my lord,

With most observant eye, their fosses, ramparts,

And brazen thunders, European arts

That fright not me: alas! our countrymen

Forge their own shameful chains, and tamely bend

Beneath these sons of pride; but soon, my lord,

When they shall see their great avenger here,

Then will they rise indignant, and destroy

This ignominious work of slavery:

Yes; on the bleeding bodies of our foes

We’ll make a path to glory; on the heads

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Of these vile Christians turn the fiery tempest,

And with their own destructive instruments

Of murder shake this all-usurping power,

Founded by pride on ignorance and fear.

zamor.

O how I joy, ye great unfortunate,

To find your kindred breasts thus nobly beat

With sympathetic fury! let us punish

The haughty Guzman, let his blood atone

For our lost country’s: O thou deity

Of injured mortals, sweet revenge, O come,

Assist thy servants, let but Guzman perish

And we are satisfied! but O my friends,

We talk of vengeance, yet are captives still,

Still groan beneath the yoke of shameful bondage:

Deserted by Alvarez, and betrayed

By Montezuma, all I love perhaps

Is in the power of him whom most I hate,

The only comfort left me is—to doubt.

But hark! what noise is that? the torches flame

On every side, and yield a double day:

This barbarous people’s brazen thunder speaks

Some horrid rites, or pompous sacrifice

Preparing: look around, and see if Zamor

Shall save his much-loved friends, or perish with them.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

alzire.

[Alone.

Ye manes of my dear departed Zamor,

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Forgive me, O forgive the wife of Guzman!

The holy altar hath received our vows,

And they are sealed in heaven: pursue me not,

Indignant shade! O if Alzire’s tears,

Her bitter anguish, her remorse, the pangs

Of her reluctant soul, can reach the dead,

If in a happier world thou still retainest

Thy generous noble spirit, thou wilt pardon

My weakness; ’twas a father’s cruel will,

A people’s happiness required it of me;

Could I refuse the dreadful sacrifice?

Thou art at peace, my Zamor, do not thus

Distract my soul, but leave me to my fate;

Alas! already it has cost me dear.

SCENE II.

alzire, emira.

alzire.

And shall I not behold my countrymen,

The loved companions of my infant years,

Those wretched captives, may I not enjoy

The mournful privilege to mix with theirs

My friendly tears, and mourn their cruel fate?

emira.

O madam, we have cause indeed to weep,

To dread the wrath of Guzman, to lament

And tremble for our country; for the hour

Of slaughter and destruction is at hand:

Again I saw the bloody flag displayed,

The proud tribunal’s met, and Montezuma

Is summoned to appear: all dreadful omens!

What will become of us?

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alzire.

Unpitying heaven!

I’ve been deceived, betrayed:—cruel O Guzman!

Was it for this I gave him at the altar

My long reluctant hand? that fatal bond

I shall repent of to my latest hour:

O under what malignant star, my father,

Madest thou these cruel, these detested nuptials?

SCENE III.

alzire, emira, cephanes.

cephanes.

One of those slaves, whom this propitious day

Restored to freedom, begs admittance to you

In secret.

alzire.

Let him enter; ’twill rejoice

My heart to see him; he and all his friends

Are welcome to Alzire: but why comes he

Alone?

cephanes.

Some secret labors in his breast,

Which you and only you, he says, must know.

’Twas he, it seems, whose heaven-directed arm

Saved the good father of thy valiant lord,

The noble Guzman.

emira.

He has sought you long;

But Montezuma’s private orders were,

He should not see you: melancholy sits

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On his dark brow, as if he were intent

On some great purpose.

cephanes.

Grief and anguish seem

To rack his soul: at mention of your name

He sighed, and wept, as if yet ignorant

Of your new honors and the rank you bear.

alzire.

Unworthy rank, and honors I despise!

Perhaps the hero knows my wretched race.

And is no stranger to Alzire’s woes:

Perhaps he knew my Zamor; who can tell

But he might be a witness of his death,

And comes to tell the melancholy tale?

A dreadful duty! that would but renew

A lover’s pangs, and double my distress;

But let him come: I know not why my heart

Should flutter thus; this hateful palace ever

Hath been a scene of sad disquietude

And trouble to me: bid him enter.

SCENE IV.

alzire, zamor, emira.

zamor.

Yes;

It is Alzire: is she then restored?

alzire.

Such were his features, voice, and motion: heaven!

It cannot be: O Zamor!—O support me.

[She faints.

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zamor.

’Tis he.

alzire.

Ha! Zamor at Alzire’s feet?

’Tis all delusion.

zamor.

No; I live for thee,

And at thy feet reclaim thy plighted faith;

O my Alzire, idol of my soul,

Wilt thou not hear me? where are all thy vows,

The sacred ties that bound us fast together?

Thou hast not broke them?

alzire.

Thou dear fatal object

Of grief and joy, of rapture and despair,

In what a dreadful moment hast thou chose

To meet Alzire? every word thou utterest

But plunges a new dagger in my heart.

zamor.

Thou weepest, yet lookest on Zamor!

alzire.

’Tis too late:

zamor.

I know you thought me dead: e’er since that hour

Of terror, when those European tyrants

Deprived me of my gods, my throne and thee,

I’ve been a poor unhappy wanderer.

Knowest thou, my love, that savage murderer, Guzman,

With ignominious stripes, and cruel torture,

Insulted me? the husband of thy choice,

Thy once loved happy Zamor, fell a prey

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To ruffians:—how it wounds thy tender heart!

Thou burnest with fierce resentment of my wrongs,

And thou wilt join with Zamor to avenge them:

Some guardian god, propitious to our loves,

Saved me from death, that we might meet again

In happiness: I hope Alzire’s true:

Thou hast not left thy gods, betrayed thy country,

Thou art not grown a false perfidious Spaniard?

They tell me I shall meet with Guzman here,

I come to free thee from that proud barbarian:

Thou lovest me, my Alzire, and wilt give

The victim to my wrath.

alzire.

Thou hast been wronged;

Revenge thyself and see thy victim—here.

zamor.

What sayest thou?—ha! thy faith, thy vows—

alzire.

No more,

But strike—I merit not life or thee.

zamor.

O cruel Montezuma! what thou toldest me

Was but too true.

alzire.

And could he tell thee all;

Named he the wretch for whom I quitted Zamor?

zamor.

He did not, durst not name him; that remains

For thee: O speak it: I shall be surprised

At nothing.

alzire.

Hear then all my guilt.

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zamor.

Alzire!

alzire.

That Guzman—

zamor.

Gracious heaven!

alzire.

Thy murderer,

Within this hour received my guilty hand;

He is—my husband.

zamor.

Guzman!

alzire.

Montezuma,

Alvarez—they betrayed my easy youth,

And urged me to the deed: the lost Alzire

Did at the Christian altar give up all

That she held dear on earth, her gods, her country,

Her—Zamor: O by those dear injured names

I beg thee, take this hated life.

zamor.

Alzire,

Can it be true? is Guzman then thy husband?

alzire.

To plead a father’s undisputed right,

To say how long I struggled with my duty,

To number o’er the fruitless tears I shed

For three long years lamenting Zamor’s death,

That still I loved thee, that I left in wrath

Those powerless gods that had deserted thee.

And from despair alone became a Christian,

Perhaps might mitigate Alzire’s crime;

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But I disdain it, I acknowledge all,

Confess my guilt, and sue for punishment.

Who shall absolve the wretch whom love condemns?

Take then a life that is not worth my care

Without thee; dost thou not abhor me, Zamor?

zamor.

No: if thou lovest me still, thou are not guilty:

May I yet hope that Zamor has a place

In his Alzire’s heart?

alzire.

When old Alvarez

And Montezuma led me to the altar

I thought on Zamor, thought him then no more,

But reverenced, but adored his memory:

Our tyrants, our usurpers know I loved thee;

I told them all, told heaven and earth, nay told

My husband—and O take this last farewell,

I love thee still.

zamor.

Is this then our last hour

Of happiness, and must we part so soon,

So lately met? O if the voice of love—

alzire.

’Tis Guzman and his father.

SCENE V.

alvarez, guzman, zamor, alzire,Attendants.

alvarez.

[To Guzman.

Son, behold

With thy Alzire stands my great preserver,

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My benefactor, my deliverer.

[To Zamor.

O noble youth, to thee I owe my life,

Let me embrace thee, be my second son,

And share the pleasures of this happy day

With Guzman and Alvarez.

zamor.

He thy son;

Guzman then thy son, that proud barbarian?

alzire.

Avert the terrors of this dreadful moment,

Indulgent heaven!

alvarez.

In what astonishment—

zamor.

How could a father, brave and good, like thee

Be cursed with such a son?

guzman.

Insulting slave,

Who gave thee license thus to spurn thy master?

Thou knowest not who I am.

zamor.

I know thee well;

And thou among the wretches thou hast made

Perhaps mayest one day meet the injured Zamor.

guzman.

And art thou he?

alvarez.

Ha! Zamor!

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zamor.

’Tis the same,

’Tis Zamor, whom thy cruel hand oppressed

With ignominious tortures, he whose eye

Thou darest not meet; thou tyrant ravisher,

Comest thou at last to rob me of my best

And dearest treasure? with thy ruthless sword

Make sure thy vengeance, and prevent the fate

Which thou deservest, ere Zamor, who preserved

The father, shall chastise the guilty son.

alvarez.

[To Guzman.

What sayest thou, Guzman, canst thou answer this?

guzman.

It were beneath me; punishment alone

Should answer insolence, and, but for thee,

Ere this he should have met with it.

[Turning to Alzire.

You, madam,

For your own honor might have more regard,

If not for mine, than thus to parley with

A traitor: come, no more of this, Alzire,

Thy tears offend me: husbands may be jealous;

Remember that and tremble.

alzire.

[To Guzman.

Cruel Guzman!

My kind protector,

[Turning to Alvarez.

Good Alvarez, hear me:

And thou,

[To Zamor.

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In better days my dearest hope,

O look with pity on the lost Alzire!

[Pointing to Zamor.

Behold the husband whom my father chose;

Long ere this hapless country bowed the neck

To European tyrants, Zamor fell,

So fame reported, and with him Peru,

Then first subdued: my wretched father, old

And full of sorrows, to the Christian’s God,

Forsaken by his own, indignant fled;

The Christian altar saw Alzire’s hand

Given to her lover’s murderer: thy new faith,

Which yet I know not, may condemn Alzire,

But virtue will forgive me when I add,

That still I love thee, Zamor; but my oath,

My marriage vow, rash fatal marriage! says

I never must be thine—nor can I now

Be Guzman’s—false to both, ye both have cause

To hate me: which of you will kindly end

My wretched being? Guzman’s hand, already

Stained with the blood of my unhappy race,

Were fittest to revenge the injured rights

Of honor and of love; be just for once,

And strike the guilty.

guzman.

Darest thou thus abuse

The goodness thou deservest not? but remember

’Twas thy request; thy punishment is ready:

My rival dies;—away with him.

alvarez.

Inhuman!

O stop, my son, consider what is due

To him who saved thy father—ye are both

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My children—let that tender name inspire

Your breasts with pity for an aged father:

At least—

SCENE VI.

alvarez, guzman, alzire, zamor.

don alonzo,a Spanish officer.

alonzo.

My lord, the foe is at our gates;

On every side their brazen bucklers ring

With barbarous dissonance: aloud they cry,

Revenge, and Zamor, whilst with measured steps,

Solemn and slow, the close-wedged phalanx moves,

As if these savages had learned from us

The arts by which we conquered them.

guzman.

Away:

Let us be gone; my presence soon shall teach

These slaves their duty—heroes of Castile,

Ye sons of victory, this new world was made

To wear your chains, to fear, and to obey you.

zamor.

To fear and to obey? ’tis false, proud Guzman;

Ye are but mortals like ourselves, no more.

guzman.

Guards, drag him hence.

zamor.

[To the Spaniards surrounding him.

Ye dare not: are ye gods,

And must we worship deities thus bathed

In our own blood?

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guzman.

Obey me, slaves.

alzire.

My lord!

alvarez.

Remember, son, that Zamor saved thy father.

guzman.

My lord, I shall remember your instructions,

You taught me how to conquer, and I fly

Once more to victory: farewell!

SCENE VII.

alvarez, alzire.

alzire.

[Kneeling.

My lord,

Behold me at your feet, accept the homage

Due to thy virtues! Guzman’s injured honor

Calls for revenge, Alzire was to blame;

But I was bound to Zamor by the ties

Of sacred love, long ere I knew thy son;

We cannot give our hearts a second time:

Zamor had mine, and ever must preserve it:

O he is good and virtuous, for he saved

Thy life, Alvarez—O forgive me!

alvarez.

Rise

Alzire, I forgive and pity thee;

Feel as a father and a friend thy sorrows,

Lament thy Zamor’s fate, and will protect him:

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But let the solemn vow thou madest to Guzman

Be graved within thy heart; thou are no longer

The mistress of thyself: remember well

Thou art my daughter—Guzman was most cruel,

I know he was, but still he is—thy husband:

Perhaps he may relent; heaven grant he may!

alzire.

Alas! why art not thou my Zamor’s father?

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

alvarez, guzman.

alvarez.

Fortune, my son, has crowned thee with success,

Endeavor to deserve it; do not stain

The laurel wreath with blood, but let fair mercy,

That adds new lustre to the conqueror’s glory,

Inspire thy breast with pity; be a man,

A Christian, and forgive: Alvarez asks thee

To pardon Zamor—shall a father plead

In vain? O Guzman, shall I never soften

Thy savage manners, never teach my son

To conquer hearts?

guzman.

Alvarez has pierced mine

Most deeply; ask my life, and it is yours,

But leave my honor, leave me my revenge;

How can I pardon Zamor, when I know

Alzire loves him?

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alvarez.

Therefore he deserves

Thy pity more.

guzman.

O to be pitied thus,

And thus beloved, Guzman would die with pleasure.

alvarez.

With all that fierce resentment, feelest thou too

The pangs of jealousy?

guzman.

And canst thou blame

An injured husband? I have too much cause

For jealousy, and yet thou pitiest not

The unhappy Guzman.

alvarez.

Thou art wild, impetuous,

And bitter in thy wrath; Alzire’s virtues

Deserve a milder treatment; when opposed,

Her open heart, rough as her native soil,

Resists with stubborn firmness, but would yield

To soft persuasion; gentle means, my son,

Are ever the most powerful.

guzman.

Must I soothe

The pride of beauty, wear a brow serene,

And cover my resentment, to expose

My easy heart to new indignities?

I should have thought that, jealous of my honor

You would approve, and not condemn my rage:

Is it not shame enough that I am wedded

To a proud slave who hates me, braves my power,

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And owns her heart is given to another?

Whom yet, to make me more accursed, I love.

alvarez.

Why blush at that? it is a lawful passion,

Indulge, but keep it within proper bounds,

For all excess is guilty—only promise

You will determine nothing till I’ve seen her

Once more.

guzman.

A father’s will must be obeyed;

I will suspend my wrath, but urge me, sir,

No further.

alvarez.

All I want is time: farewell.

[Exit.

guzman.

[Alone.

And have I lived to envy Zamor’s fate,

To envy a vile slave, who scarce deserves

The name of man!—What do I see? Alzire!

SCENE II.

guzman, alzire, emira.

alzire.

’Tis I, my lord, ’tis the afflicted wife

Of Guzman; she who honors, who reveres

And yet has injured thee: I come, my lord,

To throw me at your feet, to own my crime,

And beg forgiveness: nought have I disguised,

My open heart confessed its fatal passion

For the unhappy Zamor; if he dies,

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He dies because Alzire was sincere;

But I shall more astonish thee, I come

To plead for him: I know that Guzman’s proud,

Resentful, and severe, and yet I hope

He may be generous, ’tis a conqueror’s pride,

His glory to forgive: an act like this

Would gain thee more than conquest can bestow,

Win every heart, perhaps even change Alzire’s.

A fawning Spaniard might have promised more,

Have sighed, and wept, and softened thee with tears,

Which I disdain; the hand of nature formed

My plain untutored heart, if ought can move it,

’Tis generosity: let Guzman try

If it is made of penetrable mould.

guzman.

If you’re so fond of virtue, ’twould become you

To know and practise it, to study, madam,

Those manners you condemn, to learn your duty,

To treat yourself, your honor, and your fame

With more respect; nor dare to name a rival

Whom I abhor, but wait in humble silence

Till I determine what shall be his fate;

It is enough if I forgive Alzire:

This heart is not insensible; but know,

Those who believe shall always find me cruel.

SCENE III.

alzire, emira.

emira.

He loves you still, and yet may be persuaded.

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alzire.

Ay, but he’s jealous, that destroys my Zamor,

I lost his life by asking it; but say,

Emira, canst thou save him? shall he live,

Though far from his Alzire? didst thou try

That soldier?

emira.

Yes; the grand corrupter, gold,

Has bought him to our interest; he is ready.

alzire.

Thank heaven, that metal doth not always prove

The instrument of ill: but haste, Emira.

emira.

Is Zamor then devoted to destruction?

Cannot Alvarez save him? have the council—

alzire.

I have a thousand fears for him: alas!

These tyrants think the world was made for them,

That they were born the sovereigns of mankind,

That Zamor is a rebel and a slave:

Barbarians as they are—this cruel council—

But I’ll prevent their murderous purposes:

That soldier, my Emira, how he lingers!

emira.

Be not alarmed; night’s friendly shade protects him,

And he will soon be here with Zamor; sleep

Hath closed the tyrant’s eyes, and we are safe.

alzire.

O let him lead me to the prison gate

That I may set him free.

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emira.

Behold, he comes:

But should ye be discovered, foul dishonor,

Disgrace, and infamy—

alzire.

Attend on her

Who would betray the man she loves; this shame

Thou talkest of is a European phantom,

Which fools mistake for virtue! ’tis the love

Of glory not of justice, not the fear

Of vice but of reproach; a shame unknown

In these untutored climes, where honor shines

In its own native light, and scorns the aid

Of such false lustre; honor bids me save

A lover and a hero thus deserted.

SCENE IV.

alzire, zamor, emira,a soldier.

alzire.

O Zamor, all is lost, thy punishment

Already is prepared, and thou art doomed

To instant death; lose not a moment’s time,

But haste away, this soldier will conduct thee:

Alas! thou seest my grief and my despair,

O save my husband from the guilt of murder,

Save thy dear self, and leave me to my fate.

zamor.

Thou bidst me live, I must obey Alzire:

But wilt thou follow the poor friendless Zamor?

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A desert and this heart are all I now

Have left to offer; once I had a throne.

alzire.

What were a throne and empire without thee?

Alas! my Zamor, to the gloomy desert

My soul shall follow thee; but I am doomed

To wander here alone, to drag a life

Of bitterness and woe, to spend my hours

In sad reflections on my wretched state,

To be another’s, and yet burn for thee:

I bid farewell to Zamor and to joy;

Away, and leave me to my duty; fain

Would I preserve my honor, and my love,

They both are sacred.

zamor.

What’s this idle honor,

This European phantom, that deludes thee;

This Christian altar, those detested oaths

Extorted from thee, this triumphant God;

What have they done to rob me of Alzire?

alzire.

My sacred promise—

zamor.

’Twas a guilty vow,

And binds thee not; perdition on thy oaths,

And thy false God, whom I abhor! farewell!

alzire.

O stop, my Zamor.

zamor.

Guzman is thy husband.

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alzire.

Do not upbraid but pity me.

zamor.

O think

On our past loves.

alzire.

I think but on thy danger.

zamor.

Thou hast betrayed me.

alzire.

No; I love thee still:

If ’tis a crime, I own, nay glory in it;

But hence, and leave me here to die alone;

Some dreadful purpose labors in thy breast:

How thy eyes roll! O Zamor—

zamor.

’Tis resolved.

alzire.

Where art thou going?

zamor.

Glorious liberty,

I’ll use thee nobly.

alzire.

If thou diest remember

I perish with thee.

zamor.

In this hour of terror

Thou talkest to me of love: but time is precious,

Conduct me, soldier; fare thee well.

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SCENE V.

alzire.

He’s gone;

But where I know not: dreadful moment! Guzman,

For thee I quitted Zamor: haste, Emira,

Follow him, fly, return, and tell me all.

Thinkest thou that soldier will be faithful to us?

[Exit Emira.

I know not why, but something tells me here,

This day, for me, will be a day of horror.

O God of Christians, thou all-conquering power,

Whom yet I know not, O remove the cloud

From my dark mind; if by my fatal passion

I have offended thee, pour all thy vengeance

On me, but spare my Zamor; O conduct

His wandering footsteps through the dreary desert!

Is Europe only worthy of thy care?

Art thou the partial parent of one world,

And tyrant o’er another? all deserve

Thy equal love, the victor and the vanquished

Are all the work of thy creating hand.

But hark! what dreadful cry is that? methought

They called on Zamor—hark! again that noise!

It comes this way: my Zamor’s lost.

SCENE VI.

alzire, emira.

alzire.

Emira,

I’m glad thou art come: what hast thou seen, what done?

Where is he? speak, and ease my troubled soul.

Edition: current; Page: [51]

emira.

O it is past all hope; he cannot live:

Conducted safely by the faithful soldier

He passed the guards, then darting from him rushed

Towards the palace; trembling I pursued him,

Amidst the horrors of the silent night,

Almost to Guzman’s chamber; there he escaped me,

Though oft I called on him, oft looked in vain:

I heard a dreadful shriek, some cried aloud,

He’s dead: the palace is in arms: fly, madam,

And save yourself.

alzire.

Let us begone, and help

My Zamor.

emira.

What can we do for him?

alzire.

Die.

SCENE VII.

alzire, emira, don alonzo,Guards.

alonzo.

I’ve orders, madam, to secure you.

alzire.

Slave,

What meanest thou? where’s my Zamor?

alonzo.

That I know not:

Permit me to conduct you.

Edition: current; Page: [52]

alzire.

Cruel fate!

I must not die then? Zamor is no more,

And yet I live, a captive, and in chains:

O ignominious!—dost thou weep, barbarian?

I must indeed be wretched, if my woes

Can touch a heart like thine; I’ll follow thee;

If death awaits me, I obey with pleasure.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

alzire,Guards.

alzire.

Prepare your tortures, you who call yourselves

The judges of mankind; why am I left

In dread suspense, uncertain of my fate?

To live, or die? if I but mention Zamor

The guards around me tremble, and look pale,

His very name affrights them.

SCENE II.

montezuma, alzire.

alzire.

Ha! my father!

montezuma.

O my Alzire, what a scene of woe

Hath thy imprudent fatal passion brought

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Among us! we were pleading for thy Zamor,

The good Alvarez had well nigh prevailed,

When on a sudden an armed soldier rushed

With violence in, and bore down all before him;

’Twas Zamor’s self; with fury in his aspect,

And wild distraction, on he sprang to Guzman,

Attacked, and plunged the dagger in his breast:

The blood that issued from your husband’s wound

Gushed on your father: Zamor then resigned,

With calm submission at Alvarez’s feet

Fell humble; “take,” he cried, “this guilty sword,

Stained with thy Guzman’s blood, I am revenged;

Now nature calls on thee to do thy duty,

As I have mine; strike here;” then bared his breast

To the expected blow: the good Alvarez

Sunk breathless in my arms; confusion followed

And cries and horror; Guzman’s friends upraised him,

Bound up his wounds, and tried by every art

Of medicine to preserve his life; the people

Accuse thee as accomplice in the deed,

And call for justice on thee.

alzire.

And couldst thou—

montezuma.

O no; my heart suspects thee not, Alzire,

Thy soul I know is capable of error,

But not of guilt: alas! thou didst not see

The precipice before thee: Guzman dies

By Zamor’s hand, thy husband by thy lover;

They will condemn thee to a shameful death,

But I will try if possible to move

The council in thy favor.

Edition: current; Page: [54]

alzire.

Do not sue

For me, my father, of these cruel tyrants,

Let but Alvarez live, and love me still,

I ask no more: Guzman’s untimely fate

I must lament, because ’twas horrible,

Because, more dreadful still, he had deserved it:

Zamor avenged his wrongs, I cannot blame

Nor can I praise him for it; he must die;

Alzire wishes but to follow him.

alvarez.

O heaven, assist me in this work of mercy!

SCENE III.

alzire.

Now end all gracious power, this wretched being!

Alas! Alzire, the new God thou servest

Withholds thy hand, and says thou must not finish

Thy hated life; the deities I left

Denied me not the privilege to die.

Is it a crime to hasten on, perhaps

A few short years, the universal doom

Appointed for us all? and must we drink

The bitter cup of sorrow to the dregs?

In this vile body is there aught so sacred

That the free spirit should not leave at will

Its homely mansion? this all-conquering nation,

Shall they depopulate earth, destroy my race,

Condemn Alzire, and I not be mistress

Of my own life? Barbarians! Zamor then

Must die in tortures.

Edition: current; Page: [55]

SCENE IV.

zamorin chains,alzire,Guards.

zamor.

Yes, it is decreed:

We both must die; beneath the specious name

Of justice, the tribunal hath condemned us;

Guzman yet lives, my erring hand had left

Its work unfinished; the barbarian lives

To glut his vengeance with Alzire’s blood,

To taste a tyrant’s savage joy, and see us

Perish together—to pronounce our doom

Alvarez comes: I am the guilty cause;

Thou diest for me, Alzire.

alzire.

Then no more,

For death is welcome if it comes with Zamor:

O bless the happy hour that shall dissolve

My ties to Guzman; I may love thee now

Without a crime, without remorse; receive

The heart that’s due to thee, and thee alone:

Yon dreadful scaffold, for our death prepared,

Shall be the altar of my love; there, Zamor,

I’ll offer up my faith, and expiate there

My crime of infidelity—the worst

Of all our sentence is, that it must come

From good Alvarez.

zamor.

See, he’s here; his cheeks

Are bathed in tears.

Edition: current; Page: [56]

alzire.

Alas! who most deserves

Compassion? this will be a dreadful parting.

SCENE V.

alzire, zamor, alvarez,Guards.

zamor.

From you we both expect to hear our fate,

Pronounce it, we are not afraid to die:

Zamor deserves it, he has slain thy son,

The son of good Alvarez, of my friend;

But what, my lord, has this fair innocent,

What has Alzire done? thou art not cruel,

Proud, and revengeful, like thy countrymen,

Distinguished by thy clemency, we loved

Alvarez; wilt thou give up the fair title

Of just and good, and bathe thee in the blood

Of innocence?

alzire.

Avenge thyself, avenge

Thy son; but do not thus condemn the guiltless:

I am the wife of Guzman, that alone

Should tell thee, I would save, and not betray him,

Even though I hated, I respected him,

And swerved not from my faith, thou knowest I did not:

Careless of what the slandering multitude

May think, I rest my character on thee;

Acquitted by Alvarez, for the rest

’Tis equal all: if Zamor dies, Alzire

Must go with him: I pity thee alone.

Edition: current; Page: [57]

alvarez.

Amazing scene of tenderness and horror!

That he should be the murderer of my son

Who was my kind deliverer! O Zamor,

To thee I owe a life which I abhor;

It was a fatal gift, and bought too dear:

I am a father, yet I am a man;

Spite of a parent’s grief that cries aloud

For vengeance on thee, gratitude pleads strongly;

She will be heard:—and thou who wert my daughter,

Whom yet I call by that dear tender name;

Think not I joy in the inhuman pleasure

Of fell revenge; I lose a friend, I lose

A daughter, and a son: the council dooms thee

To death, and bids a wretched father pass

The cruel sentence; I could not refuse

The dreadful task, and now am come, my children,

To save you both: it is in Zamor’s power.

zamor.

To save Alzire? say, what’s to be done?

alvarez.

Believe in Him who now inspires Alvarez;

One word will change your fate: the law decrees,

Whoe’er becomes a Christian meets forgiveness,

The God of pardon will himself o’ershade

Thy every crime, and take thee to his mercy;

Spain will protect and love thee as a brother;

Alzire shall be safe, ye both shall live;

I’ll answer for her life as for thy own;

Zamor, to thee I speak; of thee I ask

Another life, I owe thee one already;

A father asks thee only to be happy,

To be a Christian, and to save Alzire.

Edition: current; Page: [58]

alzire.

What says my love? say, should we purchase life

So dearly? Shall I quit my gods for Guzman’s,

And be a traitor? tell me, thou sage tyrant,

When I was master of thy fate, wouldst thou,

Had Zamor sued, have quitted thy own gods

For mine?

alvarez.

I should have done as now I do,

Implored the almighty being to enlighten

A heart like thine, and make thee a true Christian.

zamor.

O cruel contest! what am I to choose,

Or life or death, Alzire, or my gods,

Which must I leave? Alzire, ’tis thy cause,

Determine it; I think thou wouldst not bring

Dishonor on thy Zamor.

alzire.

Hear me then:

Thou knowest that, to obey a father’s will,

I gave another what to thee alone

I had devoted; I embraced his faith,

And worshipped Montezuma’s God; perhaps

It was the error of my easy youth,

And thou wilt blame me for it; but methought

The law of Christians was the law of truth,

And therefore only did I make it mine

But to renounce those gods our heart adores;

That is no venial error, but a crime

Of deepest die; it is to give up both,

The God we worship, and the God we leave;

’Tis to be false to heaven, to the world,

And to ourselves: no, Zamor, if thou diest,

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Die worthy of Alzire; hear the voice

Of conscience; act as she alone directs thee.

zamor.

Thou hast determined as I thought thou wouldst,

Zamor shall die with honor.

alvarez.

Then ye scorn

Our proffered mercy: hark! those mournful cries—

SCENE VII.

alvarez, guzman, zamor, americans,soldiers.

zamor.

O save Alzire; let me perish.

alzire.

No:

I will be joined to Guzman, and to thee.

alvarez.

My son is in the agonies of death;

O Guzman, hear me.

zamor.

Look on Zamor, learn

Of him to die.

guzman.

[To Zamor.

Perhaps I may teach thee

Another lesson: I have owed the world

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A good example long, and now I mean

To pay the debt.

[Turning to Alvarez.

My soul is on the wing,

And ere she takes her flight but waits to see

And imitate Alvarez; O my father,

The mask is off, death has at last unveiled

The hideous scene, and showed me to myself;

New light breaks in on my astonished soul:

O I have been a proud, ungrateful being,

And trampled on my fellow-creatures: heaven

Avenges earth: my life can never atone

For half the blood I’ve shed: prosperity

Had blinded Guzman, death’s benignant hand

Restores my sight; I thank the instrument

Employed by heaven to make me what I am.

A penitent: I yet am master here;

And yet can pardon: Zamor, I forgive thee,

Live and be free; but O remember how

A Christian acted, how a Christian died.

[To Montezuma, who kneels to him.

Thou, Montezuma, and ye hapless victims

Of my ambition, say my clemency

Surpassed my guilt, and let your sovereigns know,

That we were born your conquerors.

[To Zamor.

Observe

The difference, Zamor, ’twixt thy God and mine:

Thine teach thee to revenge an injury,

Mine to forgive and pity thee.

alvarez.

My son,

Thy virtue’s equal to thy courage.

Edition: current; Page: [61]

alzire.

Heaven!

How wonderful a change! amazing goodness!

zamor.

Thou wilt oblige me to repent.

guzman.

Yes, Zamor,

I will do more, thou shalt admire and love me:

Guzman too long hath made Alzire wretched,

I’ll make her happy; with my dying hand

I give her to thee, live and hate me not,

Restore your country’s ruined walls, and bless

My memory.

[To Alvarez.

Alvarez, be once more

A father to them, let the light of heaven

Shine forth upon them; Zamor is thy son,

Let him repair my loss.

zamor.

Amazed, confounded,

And motionless I stand; can Christians boast

Of such exalted virtue? ’twas inspired

By heaven; the Christian’s law must be divine:

Friendship, and faith, and constancy I knew

Already; but this soars above them all:

I must indeed admire and love thee, Guzman

[Falls at his feet.

alzire.

My lord, permit me to embrace thy knees:

O I could die for Guzman; will you then

Forgive my weakness?

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guzman.

Yes: I pardon all,

I cannot see thee weep and not forgive thee.

Come near, my father, take my last farewell!

[Dies.

alvarez.

[To Montezuma.

I see the hand of God in all our woes,

And humbly bend myself before that power

Who wounds to heal, and strikes but to forgive.

End of the Fifth and Last Act.

Edition: current; Page: [63]

ORESTES

Edition: current; Page: [64]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Ægisthus.

Orestes, Son of Agamemnon and Clytemnæstra.

ELECTRA, }

Sisters of Orestes.

IPHISA, }

ClytemnÆstra, Wife of Ægisthus.

Pylades, Friend of Orestes.

Pammenes, an old Man, attached to the Family of Agamemnon.

Dimas, an Officer of the Guards.

Attendants.

Scene, the seashore, a wood, a temple, a palace and a tomb, on one side: on the other, Argos at a distance.

Edition: current; Page: [65]

“Orestes” was produced in 1750, an experiment which intensely interested the literary world and the public. In his Dedicatory Letters to the Duchess of Maine, Voltaire has the following passage on the Greek drama:

“We should not, I acknowledge, endeavor to imitate what is weak and defective in the ancients: it is most probable that their faults were well known to their contemporaries. I am satisfied, Madam, that the wits of Athens condemned, as well as you, some of those repetitions, and some declamations with which Sophocles has loaded his “Electra:” they must have observed that he had not dived deep enough into the human heart. I will moreover fairly confess, that there are beauties peculiar not only to the Greek language, but to the climate, to manners and times, which it would be ridiculous to transplant hither. Therefore I have not copied exactly the “Electra” of Sophocles—much more I knew would be necessary; but I have taken, as well as I could, all the spirit and substance of it. The feast celebrated by Ægisthus and Clytemnæstra, which they called the feast of Agamemnon; the arrival of Orestes and Pylades; the urn which was supposed to contain the ashes of Orestes; the ring of Agamemnon; the character of Electra, and that of Iphisa, which is exactly the Chrysothemis of Sophocles; and above all, the remorse of Clytemnæstra; these I have copied from the Greek tragedy. When the messenger, who relates the fictitious story of the death Edition: current; Page: [66] of Orestes, says to Clytemnæstra: ‘I see, Madam, you are deeply affected by his death;’ she replies, ‘I am a mother, and must therefore be unhappy; a mother, though injured, cannot hate her own offspring:’ she even endeavors to justify herself to Electra, with regard to the murder of Agamemnon, and laments her daughter. Euripides has carried Clytemnæstra’s repentance still further. This, Madam, was what gained the applause of the most judicious and sensible people upon earth, and was approved by all good judges in our own nation. No character, in reality, can be more natural than that of a woman, criminal with regard to her husband, yet softened by her children; a woman, whose proud and fiery disposition is still open to pity and compassion, who resumes the fierceness of her character on receiving too severe reproaches, and at last sinks into submission and tears. The seeds of this character were in Sophocles and Euripides, and I have only unfolded them. Nothing but ignorance, and its natural attendant, presumption, can assert that the ancients have nothing worthy of our imitation: there is scarcely one real and essential beauty and perfection, for the foundation of which, at least, we are not indebted to them.

“I have taken particular care not to depart from that simplicity so strongly recommended by the Greeks, and so difficult to attain; the true mark of genius and invention, and the very essence of all theatrical merit. A foreign character, brought into “Œdipus” or “Electra,” who should play a principal part and draw aside the attention of the audience, would be a monster in the eyes of all those who have any knowledge of the ancients, or of that nature which they have so finely painted. Art and genius Edition: current; Page: [67] consist in finding everything within the subject, and never going out of it in search of additional ornaments: but how are we to imitate that truly tragic pomp and magnificence which we find in the verses of Sophocles, that natural elegance and purity of diction, without which the piece, howsoever well conducted in other respects, must after all be but a poor performance!

“I have at least given my countrymen some idea of a tragedy without love, without confidants, and without episodes: the few partisans of good taste acknowledge themselves obliged to me for it, though the rest of the world withhold their approbation for a time, but will come in at last, when the rage of party is over, the injustice of persecution at an end, and the clouds of ignorance dissipated. You, Madam, must preserve among us those glittering sparks of light which the ancients have transmitted to us; we owe everything to them: not an art was born among us: everything was transplanted: but the earth that bears these foreign fruits is worn out, and our ancient barbarism, by the help of false taste, would break out again in spite of all our culture and improvement: and the disciples of Athens and Rome become Goths and Vandals, corrupted with the manners of the Sybarites, without the kind favor and protection of persons of your rank. When nature has given them either genius, or the love of genius, they encourage this nation, which is better able to imitate than to invent; and which always looks up towards the great for those instructions and examples which it perpetually stands in need of. All that I wish for, Madam, is, that some genius may be found to finish what I have but just sketched out; to free the stage from that effeminacy and Edition: current; Page: [68] affectation which it is now sunk into; to render it respectable to the gravest characters; worthy of the few great masterpieces which we already have among us; worthy, in short, the approbation of a mind like yours, and all those who may hereafter endeavor to resemble you.”

This was produced in 1748 and a burlesque upon it was played at Fontainebleau.

Edition: current; Page: [147]

ACT I.

The scene represents a large peristyle, at the bottom of which is the palace of Sémiramis. Gardens with fine hanging terraces, raised above the palace: on the right hand the temple of the magi, and on the left a mausoleum adorned with obelisks.

SCENE I.

arsaces, mitranes.

[Two slaves at a distance carrying a coffer.

arsaces.

Once more, Mitranes, thou beholdest thy friend,

Who, in obedience to the royal mandate

In secret sent, revisits Babylon,

The seat of empire; how Sémiramis

Imprints the image of her own great soul

On every object! these stupendous piles,

These deep enclosures, where Euphrates pours

His tributary waves; the temple’s pride,

The hanging gardens, and the splendid tomb

Of Ninus, wondrous monuments of art!

And only less to be admired than she

Who raised them! here, in all her splendid pomp,

More honored than the monarchs of the East,

Arsaces shall behold this glorious queen.

mitranes.

O my Arsaces, credit not the voice

Of Fame, she is deceitful oft, and vain;

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Perhaps hereafter thou mayest weep with me,

And admiration on a nearer view

May turn to pity.

arsaces.

Wherefore?

mitranes.

Sunk in grief,

Sémiramis hath spread o’er every heart

The sorrows which she feels; sometimes she raves,

Filling the air with her distressful cries,

As if some vengeful God pursued her; sits

Silent and sad within these lonely vaults,

Sacred to night, to sorrow, and to death,

Which mortals dare not enter; where the ashes

Of Ninus, our late honored sovereign, lie:

There will she oft fall on her knees and weep:

With slow and fearful steps she glides along,

And beats her breast besprinkled with her tears:

Oft as she treads her solitary round,

Will she repeat the names of son and husband,

And call on heaven, which in its anger seems

To thwart her in the zenith of her glory.

arsaces.

Whence can her sorrow flow?

mitranes.

The effect is dreadful:

The cause unknown.

arsaces.

How long hath she been thus

Oppressed, Mitranes?

Edition: current; Page: [149]

mitranes.

From the very time

When first her orders came to bring Arsaces.

arsaces.

Me, saidst thou?

mitranes.

You, my lord: when Babylon

Rejoicing met to celebrate thy conquests,

And saw the banners thy victorious arm

Had wrested from our vanquished foes; when first

Euphrates brought to our delighted shore

The lovely Azema, from Belus sprung,

Whom thou hadst saved from Scythian ravishers,

Even in that hour of triumph and success,

Even in the bosom of prosperity,

The heart of majesty was pierced with grief,

And the throne lost its lustre.

arsaces.

Azema

Was not to blame; she could not be the cause

Of sorrow or distress; one look from her

Would soothe the wrath of gods: but say, my friend,

Sémiramis is still a sovereign here,

Her heart is not forever sunk in grief?

mitranes.

No: when her noble mind shakes off the burden,

Resumes its strength, and shines in native lustre,

Then we behold in her exalted soul

Powers that excel whatever flattery’s self

Hath e’er bestowed on kings; but when she sinks

Beneath this dreadful malady, loose flow

The reins of empire, dropping from her hand;

Then the proud satrap, fiery Assur, guides

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The helm and makes the nations groan beneath him:

The fatal secret never yet hath reached

The walls of Babylon: abroad we still

Are envied, but, alas! we mourn at home.

arsaces.

What lessons of instruction to weak mortals,

When happiness is mingled thus with woe!

I, too, am wretched, thus deprived of him

Whose piercing wisdom best could give me council,

And lead me through the mazes of a court.

O I have cause to weep: without a father,

Left as I am to all the dangerous passions

Of heedless youth, without a friendly guide,

What rocks encompass and what shoals affright me!

mitranes.

I weep with thee the loss of him we loved,

The good old man; Phradates was my friend;

Ninus esteemed and gave to him the care

Of Ninias, his dear son, our country’s hope:

But O! one fatal day destroyed them both,

Father and son: to voluntary exile

Devoted, long he lived: his banishment

Was fortunate to thee, and made thee great:

Close by his side, in honor’s glorious field,

Arsaces fought, and conquered for his country:

Now, ranked with princes, thy exalted virtue

Claims its reward by merit all thy own.

arsaces.

I know not what may be my portion here:

Perhaps, distinguished on Arbazan’s plains

With fair success, my name is not unknown:

On Oxus’ banks to great Sémiramis,

When vanquished nations paid the homage due,

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From her triumphant cars she dropped a ray

Of her own glory on Arsaces’ head:

But oft the soldier, honored in the field,

In courts neglected lies, and is forgotten.

My father told me in his dying hour

The fortune of Arsaces here depended

Upon the common cause; then gave to me

These precious relics, which from every eye

He had preserved: I must deliver them

To the high priest, for he alone can judge,

And know their value: I must talk with him

In secret, touching my own fate, for he

Can best conduct me to Sémiramis.

mitranes.

He seldom sees the queen: in solitude

Obscure he lives: his holy ministry

Engrosses all his care; without ambition,

Fearless, and void of art: is always seen

Within the temple, never at the court:

Never affects the pride of rank and title,

Nor his tiara near the diadem

Immodest wears: the less he seeks for greatness,

The more is he admired, the more revered:

I have access to every avenue

Of his retirement in this sacred place,

And can this moment talk to him in secret;

Ere day’s too far advanced I’ll bring him hither.

SCENE II.

arsaces.

[Alone.

Immortal gods! for what am I reserved?

Make known your will: why did my dying father

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Thus send me to the sanctuary, me

A soldier, bred amidst the din of arms?

A lover, too? How can Arsaces serve

The gods of the Chaldæans?—Ha! what voice

From yonder tomb in plaintive accents strikes

My frighted ear, and makes my hair to stand

On end with horror! Near this place I’ve heard

The spirit of Ninus dwells—again it shrieks—

It shocks my soul—Ye dark and dreary caves,

And thou, the shade of my illustrious master,

Thou voice of heaven, what wouldst thou with Arsaces?

SCENE III.

arsaces, oroes,the high priest, the magi attending him,mitranes.

mitranes.

[Speaking to Oroes.

He’s here, my lord, and waits to give you up

Those precious relics.

arsaces.

Most revered father,

Permit a soldier to approach your presence,

Pleased to fulfil a father’s last command,

One whom you deigned to love; thus at your feet,

Obedient to his will, I here resign them.

oroes.

Welcome! thou brave and noble youth! that God

Who governs all, and not a father’s will,

Guided thee here: Phradates was my friend;

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Dear is his memory to me; thou shalt know

Perhaps hereafter how I love his son:

Where are the gifts he sent me?

arsaces.

[The slaves deliver the coffer to two of the magi, who place it on an altar.

[The great gate of the palace opens, Assur appears at a distance, surrounded by attendants and guards on every side.

Ha! the palace opens:

The courtiers crowding to the queen: behold

The haughty Assur with his servile throng

Of flatterers round him! O almighty power!

On whom dost thou bestow thy bounties here?

O monster!

arsaces.

Ha! what meanest thou?

oroes.

Fare thee well:

When night shall cast her sable mantle o’er

Edition: current; Page: [156]

These guilty walls, I’ll have more converse with thee,

Before the gods: revere them, my Arsaces,

For know, brave youth, their eyes are fixed on thee.

SCENE IV.

Arsaces, Mitranes,in the front of the stage,Assur, Cedar,with attendants, on one side.

arsaces.

His words are dreadful; they affright my soul:

What horrid crimes! and what a court is here!

How little known! my royal master poisoned,

And Assur, but too well I see, suspected!

mitranes.

Assur is sprung of royal race, and claims

The deference due to his authority:

He is the favorite of Sémiramis,

And thou, without a blush, mayest pay him homage.

arsaces.

Homage to him!

assur.

[To Cedar.

Ha! do my eyes deceive me,

Or is Arsaces here without my order?

Amazing insolence!

arsaces.

What haughtiness!

assur.

[Advancing.

Come hither, youth: what new engagements here

Have brought you from the camp?

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arsaces.

My duty, sir,

And the queen’s orders.

assur.

Did the queen send for you?

arsaces.

She did.

assur.

But, know you not, with her commands

You should have asked for mine?

arsaces.

I know not that,

And should have thought the honor of her crown

Debased by such a mean submission to thee:

My lord, you must forgive a soldier’s roughness,

We are bad courtiers: bred up in the plains

Of Arbazan and Scythia, I have served

Your court, but am not much acquainted with it.

assur.

Age, time, and place, perhaps, may teach you, sir.

What would you with the queen? for know, young man,

Assur alone can lead you to her presence.

arsaces.

I come to ask my valor’s best reward,

The honor still to serve her.

assur.

Thou wantest more,

Presumptuous boy! I know thy bold pretences

To Azema, but that thou wouldst conceal.

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arsaces.

Yes: I adore that lovely maid: her heart

Would I prefer to empire: my respect,

My tenderest love—

assur.

No more: thou knowest not whom

Thou art insulting thus: what! join the race

Of a Sarmatian to the demigods

Of Tigris and Euphrates! mark me well:

In pity to thy youth I would advise thee

Ne’er, on thy peril, to Sémiramis

Impart thy insolent request; for know,

Rash boy, if thou shouldst dare to violate

The rights of Assur, ’twill not pass unpunished.

arsaces.

I’ll go this instant: thou hast given me courage:

Thus threatenings always terrify Arsaces:

Thou hast no right, whate’er thy power may be,

To affront a soldier who has served his queen,

The state, and thee: perhaps my warmth offends;

But thou art rasher than myself, to think

That I would bend beneath thy servile yoke,

Or tremble at thy power.

assur.

Perhaps thou mayest;

I’ll teach thee what a subject may expect

For insolence like this.

arsaces.

We both may learn it.

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SCENE V.

sémiramis,at the farther end of the stage, leaning on her women.

otanes, assur, arsaces, mitranes,in the front.

otanes.

[Advancing.

My lord, the queen at present would be private:

You must retire, and give her sorrows way:

Withdraw, ye gods, the hand of vengeance from her!

arsaces.

How I lament her fate!

assur.

[To one of his attendants.

Let us begone,

And study how we best may turn her griefs

To our advantage.

[Sémiramis comes forward, and is joined by Otanes.

otanes.

My royal mistress, be yourself again,

And wake once more to joy and happiness.

sémiramis.

O death! when wilt thou come with friendly shade

To close these eyes that hate the light of day?

Be shut, ye caves; horrible phantom, hence!

Strike if thou wilt, but threaten me no more.

Otanes, is Arsaces come?

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otanes.

Ere morn

Rose on the temple, madam, he was there.

sémiramis.

That dreadful voice, from heaven or hell I know not,

Which in the dead of night so shakes my soul,

Told me, my sorrows, when Arsaces came,

Would soon be o’er.

otanes.

Rely then on the gods,

And let the cheerful ray of hope dispel

This melancholy.

sémiramis.

Is Arsaces here?

Methinks, when I but hear his name, my soul

Is less disturbed, and guilt sits lighter on me!

otanes.

O! quit, forever quit the sad remembrance:

Let the bright days of great Sémiramis,

Replete with glory, blot one moment out

That broke the chain of thy ill-fated nuptials:

Had Ninus driven thee from his throne and bed,

All Babylon with thee had been destroyed;

But happily for us, and for mankind,

That wanted such distinguished virtues, you

Prevented him; and fifteen years of toil,

Spent in the service of thy country, lands

Desert and waste made fertile by thy care,

The savage tamed, and yielding to the laws,

The useful arts, obedient to thy voice,

Uprising still, the glorious monuments

Of wealth and power, the wonder of mankind,

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And the loud plaudit of a grateful people,

All plead thy cause before the throne of heaven;

But if impartial justice hold the scale,

If vengeance is required for Ninus’ death,

Why thus should Assur brave the angry gods,

And live in peace? He was more guilty far

Than thou wert, yet the ruthless hand that poured

The fatal draught never shakes with fear: he feels

No stings of conscience, no remorse affrights him.

sémiramis.

Our duties different, different is our fate:

Where ties are sacred, crimes are heavier far:

I was his wife, Otanes, and I stand

Without excuse; my conscience is my judge

And my accuser: but I hoped the gods,

Offended at my crimes, had punished me

Enough, when they deprived me of my child;

Hoped my successful toils, that made the earth

Respect my name, had soothed the wrath of heaven:

But months on months have passed in agony

Since this dire spectre hath appalled my soul:

My eyes forever see him, and my ears

Still hear his cries: I get me to the tomb,

But dare not enter: trembling I revere

His ashes, and invoke his honored shade,

Which only answers me in dismal groans.

Some dread event is nigh: perhaps the time

Is come to expiate the offence.

otanes.

But thinkest thou

The spirit of thy lord hath left indeed

The mansions of the dead, and stalks abroad?

Ofttimes the soul, by powerful fancy led,

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Starts at a phantom of its own creation;

Still it beholds the objects it has made,

And everything we fear is present to us.

sémiramis.

O no! it was not the wild dream of fancy

By slumber wrought, I saw him but too well:

The stranger, Sleep, had long withheld from me

His sweet delusions; watchful as I stood,

And mused on my unhappy fate, a voice

Close to my bed, methought, cried out, “Arsaces!”

The name revived me: well thou knowest, long time

Assur has pierced this heart with deadly grief:

I shudder at his presence, and the blushes

That show my guilt increase my punishment,

Hate the reproachful witness of my shame,

And wish I could—but wherefore should I add

To crimes like mine fresh guilt? I sought Arsaces

To punish Assur, and the thought of him

Awhile relieved me! but in the sweet moment

Of consolation, sudden stood before me

That minister of death, all bathed in blood,

And in his hand a falchion: still I see,

Still hear him: comes he to defend, or punish?

’Twas at that very hour Arsaces came.

This day was fixed by heaven to end my sorrows,

But peace is yet a stranger to my soul,

And hope is lost in horror and despair:

The load of life is grown too heavy for me,

My throne is hateful, and my glories past

But add fresh weight to my calamities.

Long time I’ve hid my sorrows from the world

And blushed in secret, fearful to consult

That reverend sage whom Babylon adores:

I would not thus degrade the majesty

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Of sovereign power, or let Sémiramis

Betray her fears before a mortal’s eye,

But I have sent to Libya’s sands in secret

There to consult the oracle of Jove:

As if removed from man, the God of truth

Had hid in desert plains his will divine.

Alas! Otanes, that dread power which dwells

Within these lonely walls, hath long received

My fears and adorations; at his altars

My gifts were offered, and my incense rose;

But gifts and incense never can atone

For crimes like mine: to-day I shall receive

Answers from Memphis.

SCENE VI.

sémiramis, otanes, mitranes.

mitranes.

An Egyptian priest

Is at the palace gate, and begs admittance.

sémiramis.

Then will my woes be ended, or complete.

Let us begone, and hide from Babylon

Her queen’s disgraceful sorrows: let Arsaces

Be sent to me: soon may his presence calm

This storm of grief, and soothe my troubled soul!

End of the First Act.

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ACT II.

SCENE I.

arsaces, azema.

azema.

To thee, Arsaces, this great empire owes

Its lustre, I my liberty and life.

When vanquished Scythia, thirsting for revenge,

From its wild desert rushed indignant forth,

And bore down all before it; when my father,

Oppressed by numbers, fell, and left me there

A hapless slave; then, armed with thunder, thou,

Piercing their dark retreats, didst break my chains,

And give me ample vengeance on my foes.

Thou wert my great deliverer, Arsaces,

And in return I give thee all my heart;

I will be thine, and only thine; but O!

Our fatal passion will destroy us both:

Thy generous heart, too open and sincere,

Believed that gallant deeds, and fair renown

In arms, would gain thee honors in a court;

And, fearless of success, thou bringest with thee

A hero’s fierceness and a lover’s heart.

Assur is incensed: alas! thou dost not know him:

He is too powerful for us; he rules all

At Babylon; and much, I fear, abuses

His fatal influence o’er Sémiramis:

He is thy great inexorable—rival.

arsaces.

Ha! does he love thee?

azema.

No; that savage mind,

Subtle and dark, a foe to every virtue,

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Insensible to love and every charm

But those ambition boasts, could never feel

A real passion for me: but he knows

That Azema is descended from the race

Of our Assyrian kings, and soon may claim

My right of empire here, as next the throne;

And therefore means to blend his interest here

With mine, and gain the sceptre for himself:

But if the youth whom Ninus had decreed,

Even from my infant years, to be my husband,

The son of great Sémiramis, and heir

Of Babylon, were living now, and here

Would offer me his heart and half his empire,

By love I swear, and by thy precious self,

Ninias should sue in vain, and see me quit

A throne with him for banishment with thee.

Even Scythia’s bleak inhospitable plains

Would yield a sweet asylum to our love;

For they would echo my Arsaces’ name,

And sound his praise; those barren wilds, where first

Our passion grew, would be to me a court,

Nor should I cast a thought on Babylon.

But much I fear this subtle statesman means

To carry his resentment further still:

I’ve searched his soul, and know the blackness of it:

Or I mistake, or guilt sits lightly on him;

Already he is jealous of thy glory,

He fears, and hates thee.

arsaces.

And I hate him more,

But fear him not, since Azema is mine:

Keep thou thy faith, and I despise his anger.

At least I share with him the royal favor:

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I saw the queen, and her humanity

Equalled the pride of Assur: when I fell

Prostrate before her, gently she upraised me,

And called me the support of Babylon:

With pride I heard the flattering voice of her

Whose name contending kings unite to honor:

The distance ’twixt her royal state and mine

Was lessened soon by mildest condescension;

It touched, it melted me; and, after thee,

To me she seemed, of all the human race,

Most nearly to resemble the divine.

azema.

If she protects us, Assur’s threats are vain:

I heed them not.

arsaces.

Inspired by thee, I went,

Fearless and brave, to lay before the feet

Of my great mistress, that aspiring passion

Which Assur dreads, and Azema approves;

When lo, that very moment came a priest

From Egypt with Ammonian Jove’s decree:

Trembling she opened quick the awful scroll,

First fixed her eyes on me, then sudden turned

Her face aside, and wept: stood fixed in grief

Like one distraught, then sighed, and vanished from me.

They tell me, she is fallen into despair,

And hath of late been dreadfully pursued

By some avenging god: I pity her:

’Tis wonderful that after fifteen years,

Heaven, that so long defended, should at last

Oppress her thus: by what hath she offended

The angry gods, and wherefore are they changed?

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azema.

We hear of naught but dreadful spectres, omens,

And vengeance from above: the queen of late

Lets loose the reins of empire: we had cause

To fear for Babylon, least subtle Assur,

Who knows her weakness, in this dangerous time,

Should seize the helm, and bury all in ruin;

But the queen came, and all was calm again;

All owned the power of her despotic sway.

If I have any knowledge of the court,

The queen hates Assur, but keeps fair with him,

And watches close; they’re fearful of each other,

Would quarrel soon, but that some secret cause,

Some mutual interest, still prevents a rupture:

I saw her fire indignant at his name;

The blushes on her cheeks betrayed her thoughts,

And her heart seemed to glow with deep resentment:

But sudden changes happen in a court;

Return, and speak to her.

arsaces.

I will; but know not

Whether again I e’er shall gain admittance.

azema.

Thou hast my vows, my wishes, and my prayers

For thy success: I glory in my love,

And in my duty: let Sémiramis

Rule o’er the vanquished East, I envy her

Nor fame nor conquest; let the world be hers,

Arsaces mine: but Assur comes this way.

arsaces.

The traitor! how I shudder at his presence!

My soul abhors him.

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SCENE II.

assur, arsaces, azema.

assur.

Your reception, sir,

I find, was noble, such as kings have oft

Solicited in vain: you saw the queen

In secret, did she not reprove a conduct

Injurious to my honor and her own?

Did she not tell thee Azema’s designed

For Assur, not for thee? Long since her hand

To Ninias given was for the blood of kings

Alone reserved; and therefore is my right,

As next to the throne: did she acquaint you, sir,

Into what fatal snares your pride would lead you,

That neither fame nor honors will excuse

Your bold pretensions?

arsaces.

I well know what’s due

To your high birth, and to the rank you bear,

And should have paid it, though you had not thus

Instructed me; but as a master here

I own you not: your royal ancestors,

From Belus sprung, perhaps may give you claim

To Azema; the welfare of the state,

Present and future, all, I own, conspire

To raise your hopes of bliss, and make her yours:

These are your claims, and I acknowledge them:

But I have one that’s worth them all: I love her:

I might have added this, that I avenged

And saved her, gave new lustre to the throne

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Which she was born to fill, if I had chosen,

Like thee, to boast of my exploits before her.

But I must leave thee, to perform her orders.

Sémiramis and her I shall obey,

And them alone: a day perhaps may come

When thou shalt be our master: heaven sometimes

In anger sends us kings: but thou art deceived,

At least in one of thy ambitious views,

If amongst thy subjects thou hast ranked Arsaces.

assur.

The measure’s full: thou courtest thy own destruction.

SCENE III.

assur, azema.

assur.

I’ve borne his insolence too long already,

’Tis time we enter on a nobler subject,

And worthier thy attention.

azema.

Can there be one?

But speak.

assur.

Ere long all Asia shall attend

On our resolves, and low concerns like these

Must pass unheeded by: a world demands

Our mutual care: Sémiramis is now

The shadow of herself, her glory’s past,

That star which shone with such transcendent lustre,

Declining now, sends forth a feeble ray;

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The people see and wonder at her fall,

Whilst every tongue demands a—successor:

That word sufficeth: you well know my right:

’Tis not for love to deal forth sovereign power,

And point out who shall rule in Babylon;

Not that my soul, to beauty blind, would make

A virtue of insensibility;

But I should blush for thee and for myself,

To see the welfare of a nation thus

Dependent on a sigh: thoughts worthier both

Must guide my fortune, and determine thine:

Our ancestors the same, we should offend

Their venerable shades, and lose the world

By not uniting: I astonish you:

These are harsh words for tender age like thine;

But I address me to the kings and heroes

From whom you sprung, to all those demigods

Whom here you represent: too long trod down

Beneath a woman’s feet their ashes lay,

Their glories she eclipsed, usurped their power,

And fettered vanquished nations with her laws;

But she is gone, and thou must now support

The building she had raised: she had thy beauty,

And thou must have her courage: let not love

Or folly wrest the sceptre from thy hand,

But grasp it close: you will not sacrifice

To a Sarmatian’s idle passion for you

The name you ought to honor, and the throne

You should ascend, of universal empire.

azema.

Let not Arsaces be the theme, my lord,

Of your reproaches, but depend on me

To vindicate the honor of my race,

And to defend, whene’er occasion calls,

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The rights of my loved ancestors; I know

Their worth and virtues, but I know not one

Amongst the heroes which Assyria boasts

More great, more virtuous, more beloved, than he,

Than this Sarmatian, whom you thus disdain.

Do justice to his merit: for myself,

When I shall bend to Hymen’s laws, the queen

Must guide my choice, and at her hands alone

Will I receive a master: for the crowd,

The babbling echo of one secret voice,

I heed it not; nor know I if the people

Are tired of their obedience to a woman,

But still I see them bow the knee before her;

And if they murmur, murmur in the dust:

The hand of heaven, they say, is raised against her:

I am a stranger to her guilt, but think

That heaven would never have made choice of thee

To tell its high commands, or minister

Its justice to mankind: Sémiramis

Is still a queen, and you who lord it here

Receive from her the laws which you dispense:

For me, I own her power, and hers alone:

My glory is to obey, be thine the same.

SCENE IV.

assur, cedar.

assur.

Obey! I blush to think how long already

I have obeyed: O insupportable!

But say, hast thou succeeded, are the seeds

Of hatred sown in secret through the realm?

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Will they spring up into a fruitful harvest

Of discord, and rebellion?

cedar.

All is well:

The people, long deluded by the arts

And dazzling glory of Sémiramis,

At length have lost their idle veneration:

No longer chained to silence, they demand

A successor: each lover of his country

Calls for a master, and looks up to thee.

assur.

Heart-burning care! and ever-during shame!

Still must my hopes, my fate depend on her?

Was it for this that Ninus and his son

Fell by my hand, that Assur might be still

Only her first of slaves? So near the throne,

To languish in illustrious servitude,

And only be the second of mankind!

The queen was satisfied with Ninus’ death,

But I went further, and pursued my blow:

Ninias, in secret murdered by my order,

Opened my passage to the throne; but she

Denied me entrance.—A long time in vain

I soothed her pride with flattery on her charms;

Still hoped one day to gain upon her youth

That happy influence which assiduous care

And humble adoration seldom fail

To win o’er artless minds that bend with ease:

I little knew the firmness of her soul,

Inflexible, and bold; the world alone

Could satisfy her pride: she seemed indeed

Most worthy of it: spite of my resentment,

I own she was, and yield the praise she merits.

The reins of empire, that flowed loose before,

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Strongly she held; appeased the murmuring crowd,

Silenced their plaints, and quashed conspiring rebels;

Fought like a hero, like a monarch ruled:

She led her army and her people captive,

And spite of fame, with more than magic art,

Chained down the minds of men: the universe

Astonished stood, and trembled at her feet.

In short, her beauty, woman’s best support,

Strengthened the laws which power and valor made;

And when I strove to raise conspiracies

My friends stood mute, and only could admire her.

At length the charm is broke: her power decays;

Her genius droops; remorse, and idle fears,

And fond credulity have bound her faith

To lying oracles, which knavish priests

Had taught to speak in Egypt’s barren plain:

She pours her daily incense at their altars,

And wearies heaven with vows: Sémiramis

Creeps on a level now with common mortals,

And condescends to fear: I know her weakness:

Know, till she falls, Assur can never rise:

But I have raised the people’s voice against her,

And she must yield: this blow decides her fate:

If she consents to give me Azema,

She is no longer queen; if she refuses,

The kingdom will revolt: on every side

The snare is laid, and nothing now can save her.

Yet, after all, perhaps I am deceived,

And fortune, so long called for, comes at last

But to betray me.

cedar.

If the queen is forced

To name a successor, and yields the princess

To Assur’s bed, what can he have to fear,

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When the divided branch of Asia’s kings

Shall be united? all conspires to pave

Your way to empire.

assur.

Azema is safe;

She must be mine; but wherefore send so far

For this Arsaces? she supports him too;

And when I would chastise his insolence,

Her interposing hand prevents me still:

A minister without the power, a prince

Without a subject, girt around with honors,

And yet a poor dependent, what is Assur?

All, all unite to persecute me now:

A peevish mistress, and a haughty rival,

Consulted priests that teach their gods to speak

Against me; with Sémiramis, who strives

To free herself, yet trembles at my presence:

But we shall see how far this proud ingrate

Will urge an angry rebel who defies her.

SCENE V.

assur, otanes, cedar.

otanes.

My lord, the queen commands you to attend her

In secret, and alone.

assur.

I shall obey

Her sacred orders, and with care perform

My sovereign’s will.

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SCENE VI.

assur, cedar.

assur.

Whence springs this sudden change?

These three months past she has avoided me,

Even as the object of her hatred: oft

When she beheld me she would cast her eyes

Down on the earth, as if she loathed the sight:

Whene’er we met, ’twas in a gaping crowd

Of hearers; when she spoke, her sighs and tears

Would interrupt our converse, or perchance

Silence was all the answer she would give me.

What can she want? What can she say to me?

But here she comes: ’tis she—wait you within.

[To Cedar.

SCENE VII.

sémiramis, assur.

sémiramis.

My lord, I come to ease a troubled heart

Of its long hidden woes, and pour it all

Before you: I have ruled o’er Asia long,

And not ingloriously: Babylon perhaps

May pay this tribute to my memory,

And say Sémiramis deserved to rank

Among the greatest of her kings: thy hands

Have helped me to support the weight of empire;

With absolute dominion have I ruled,

Adored by all, and crowned with victory

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On every side: intoxicated long

With flattery’s pleasing incense, I forgot

The crimes that raised me to this envied state;

Forgot the justice of high heaven: it comes;

It speaks to me: Sémiramis must yield:

This noble structure, which I fondly thought

Superior to the injuries of time,

Is tottering now, and shakes from its foundation;

Means must be found to strengthen and support it.

assur.

The work is yours, and you must finish it:

Foresee the attacks of time, and stop his rapine:

Who shall obscure the lustre of thy days,

Or wherefore fearest thou heaven whilst earth obeys thee?

sémiramis.

Yonder the ashes of my husband lie;

Canst thou look there, and wonder at my fears?

assur.

I cannot bear to hear the noisy crowd

Still talk of Ninus: wherefore should remembrance

Call back the thoughts of that inglorious reign?

Can they believe, that, after fifteen years,

His angry spirit still calls out for justice?

Ere now he would have taken due vengeance on us,

Had he the power: why from the peaceful realms

Of dark oblivion wouldst thou call the dead,

Or search for truth in lying oracles?

I am astonished too, but ’tis at thee,

And thy vain fears: to make the gods propitious,

We must be resolute: this idle phantom,

At once the child and parent of your fears,

Why should it thus alarm you? Prodigies

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Never appear to those who dread them not:

Baits to allure the unthinking multitude,

By knaves invented, and by fools believed;

The great despise them: but if nobler views

Inspire thy soul to immortalize the blood

Of Belus, if the beauteous Azema

Claims her high rank.—

sémiramis.

Assur, on that I came

To speak with thee: our Babylon demands,

For such is Ammon’s will, a successor:

Heaven and my people will be satisfied

When I shall take a partner to my throne:

Thou knowest, my pride could never condescend

To a divided sway; ’twas my resolve

To rule alone, while the impatient world

Urged me in vain; and when the people’s voice,

Which now is echoed by the voice of heaven,

Still presses me, in the bloom of youth, to give

A sovereign to mankind, I still refused:

If I had yielded then to any claim,

It had been thine; you had a right to hope,

And to expect it; but you knew too well,

How much Sémiramis abhorred a master.

Without submitting to a tie so fatal,

I made thee then the second of mankind,

And only not my equal; ’twas enough,

I thought, to satisfy even thy ambition.

At length the gods make known their will divine,

And I obey them: hear the oracle:

“All shall again be well at Babylon,

When Hymen’s torch a second time shall blaze

Propitious; then shalt thou, O cruel wife,

And wretched mother, then shall thou appease

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The shade of Ninus.” Thus the voice of heaven

Declares its sacred will: I know thy arts;

Know, thou hast formed a party in the state,

And mean to oppose me with the royal blood

From whence you sprung: from thee and Azema

My successor, it seems, must rise; I know

You look that way, and she perhaps aspires

To equal honors; but, observe me well:

I shall not suffer your united claims

To rob me of my right: remember, sir,

You know my will; ’tis constant, and as fate

Irrevocable: thinkest thou now the God

Whose arm is lifted o’er me hath deprived

My soul of all its wonted strength and spirit,

Or dost thou still behold Sémiramis,

Who can support the honor of her throne?

Know, Babylon ere long shall at my hands

Receive a master: whether the high choice

Shall fall on thee, or be another’s lot,

I’ll take a sovereign as a sovereign ought:

Bring me the magi and the princess here

To join their voices with Sémiramis.

To give away my freedom and my empire

Is the first, greatest act of royal power,

And therefore let it be performed with awe

And silence due to my authority.

Heaven hath appointed this great day to show

Its mercy to me, and the gods at length

Remit their anger; nothing can disarm it

But my repentance; ’tis the only virtue:

Trust me, it is, howe’er you may despise it,

Remaining for the guilty: weak, I know,

And fearful thou esteemest me; but henceforth

Remember, Assur, guilt alone is weakness:

Think not that fear can e’er disgrace a throne,

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It has done good to kings, and might to thee;

I tell thee, statesman, to obey the gods,

And tremble at their power, is no abasement.

SCENE VIII.

assur.

[Alone.

Astonishment! such language, such designs!

Or is it artifice, or weakness in her,

Or cowardice or courage? Does she mean,

By yielding thus, to prop her tottering power,

And by our union to defeat my purpose?

I must not think, it seems, of Azema,

Because, perhaps, I’m destined for herself.

It must be so. What all my cares in vain

Solicited, my flattery of her charms,

My deep intrigues, and our united crimes,

With all her fears, could never gain, at length

An idle dream, and a dark oracle

From Egypt have performed. What power unknown

Decrees the fate of mortals? Great events

Hang on the slenderest thread: still I am doubtful:

I’ll see Sémiramis again; she seemed

Too much in haste; such sudden resolutions

Betray an overanxious mind, and those

Who change with ease are either weak, or wicked.

End of the Second Act.

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ACT III.

SCENE I.

sémiramis, otanes.

[The scene represents an apartment in the palace.

sémiramis.

Who would have thought, Otanes, that the gods,

Offended as they were, at length should smile

Propitious thus, and threaten but to save!

Should drop the uplifted thunder from their hand,

And pardon me; should send Arsaces hither

To change my fate! for know it is their will

That I should wed, and by a second tie

Expiate the crimes of my first fatal nuptials.

They are the great disposers of our hearts,

And mine with pleasure yields to their decrees:

It even outruns their purposes: Arsaces,

I’m thine; for thou wert born to rule o’er me,

And o’er the world.

otanes.

Arsaces! he!

sémiramis.

Thou knowest,

In Scythia’s plains, when I avenged the Persian,

And conquered Asia, this young hero fought

Beneath his father’s banners, and, surrounded

With captives, brought to me the bloody spoils,

And, blushing, laid his victims at my feet.

When first I saw him, I could feel his heart,

As by some secret power, attracting mine

Insensibly towards him; all mankind,

Besides Arsaces, seemed not worth my notice.

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Assur grew jealous of him, and ever since

Has fired with indignation at his name;

Whilst his dear image still employed my thoughts,

Before that voice which guides my every word

And every action named him for my husband,

Before the gods had pointed out Arsaces.

otanes.

It was indeed a noble conquest, thus

To bend that haughty spirit which disdained

The proffered homage of our Eastern monarchs,

Who as her subjects, not as lovers, still

Accepted kings! You who contemned those charms,

That sovereign beauty, which extended wide

Your universal empire; whilst your eyes

Pierced every heart, you scarce would condescend

To mark their power; and dost thou yield at last

To love’s imperious sway; to fears and horror

Succeed the tender passions? Can it be?

sémiramis.

O, no; it is not love: I am not fallen

So much beneath myself, as to bestow

On beauty the reward that’s due to virtue;

I feel a nobler passion in my breast:

Alas! such weakness would but ill become

Sémiramis: unhappy as I am,

For me to think of love, Otanes, how

Couldst thou suppose it? Once I was a mother,

But scarce had studied to deserve the name

By my fond cares, when heaven in anger snatched

My child away, and left me here alone

A prey to anguish. I had nothing near me

That I could love; and, midst my grandeur, felt

An aching void within my soul. I fled

The court, endeavored to avoid myself,

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And sought relief in these proud monuments,

Amusing flatterers of a restless heart

That shunned reflection: rest was still a stranger,

And long remained so; but he comes once more,

I feel him now, and wonder at the power

That charmed him hither: ’twas Arsaces; he

Shall hold the place of husband and of son,

A conquered world, and all my glories past.

How much I owe to thee, celestial power,

Who thus propitious leadest me to the altar

So long abhorred; and hast thyself inspired

That passion which alone can make me happy!

otanes.

But what will be the rage and grief of Assur?

Hast thou reflected on it, when he hears

Thy new resolves? He is not without hopes:

The people have already fixed thy choice

On him, and his resentment will not end

In mere complaints.

sémiramis.

I never have deceived,

And therefore fear him not: these fifteen years,

Whate’er his views have been, I’ve taught him still

To rank but with my subjects, though the first

Amongst them; and set bounds to his ambition,

Which he hath never o’erleaped: I reigned alone;

And if this feeble hand so long could guide

The helm of power, and curb his haughtiness,

What can his courage or his cunning do

Against Arsaces and Sémiramis?

Yes: Ninus hath accepted my repentance,

And leaves the mansions of the dead to urge

Our happy union: his illustrious shade

Again would rage to see his murderer seize

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His throne and bed: this calls him from the tomb,

And Ammon’s oracles unite with him

To crown my bliss: no more the awful virtue

Of Oroes affrights me; I’ve sent for him

To be a witness of the great event,

And soon expect him here.

otanes.

His honored name

And sacred character may give indeed

A sanction to your choice.

sémiramis.

I know it will,

And establish my resolves.

otanes.

Behold, he comes.

SCENE II.

sémiramis, oroes,

sémiramis.

Great successor of Zoroaster, welcome:

To-day must Babylon receive a king;

Thy office is to crown him; is all ready

For the solemnity?

oroes.

The magi wait

Thy pleasure, and the nobles all attend:

To pay obedience to the sovereign power

Is all my duty, and I shall fulfil it:

I am not to judge kings, for that belongs

To heaven alone.

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sémiramis.

By this mysterious language,

It seems you disapprove my purpose.

oroes.

Madam,

I know it not, but wish it fair success.

sémiramis.

Thou canst interpret heaven’s high will: these signs

Which I have seen, can they be fatal to me?

A spectre hath of late, perhaps some god,

Appeared, and in the bosom of the earth

Re-entered soon: what power hath thus broke down

The eternal barrier that divides the light

From darkness? wherefore should a mortal thus

Rise from the tomb to visit me?

oroes.

Know, heaven

Doth oft suspend its own eternal laws

When justice bids, reversing death’s decree;

Thus to chastise the sovereigns of the earth,

And terrify mankind.

sémiramis.

The oracles

Demand a sacrifice.

oroes.

It shall be offered.

sémiramis.

Eternal justice, thou whose piercing eye

Beholdest my naked heart, O fill it not

Again with horror, bury in oblivion

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My first unhappy nuptials!

Oroes, stay.

[To Oroes, who is retiring.

oroes.

[Returning.

I thought my presence might disturb you, madam.

sémiramis.

Return, and answer me: this morning, say,

Did not Arsaces offer at your altars

Gifts to the gods?

oroes.

He did; and precious were they:

Arsaces is the favorite of heaven.

sémiramis.

I know he is, and I rejoice to hear it.

Can I be wretched if I trust to him?

oroes.

He is the empire’s best support; the gods

Conducted him; his glory is their care.

sémiramis.

With transport I accept the fair presage,

Whilst hope and peace return to calm my breast.

Away: again let purest incense rise

Before your altars; let your magi come

And sanctify the choice; bring down the smiles

Of the assenting gods, and make us happy.

Henceforth may Babylon with me revive,

And shine amongst the nations of the earth

With double splendor! Go thou, and prepare

The solemn pomp.

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SCENE III.

sémiramis, otanes.

sémiramis.

Heaven seconds my design,

And I am only the interpreter

Of its high will, to give the world a master:

Thus to receive a kingdom at my hand

Will strike him with astonishment: even now

How little thinks he of the approaching greatness!

How will proud Assur and his fawning crowd

Be humbled! But a word, and the whole earth

Falls at his feet; and, grateful as he is,

I know he will repay me: I shall wed him,

And for my portion carry him a world;

My glory’s pure, and now I shall enjoy it.

SCENE IV.

sémiramis, otanes, mitranes. an officer of the palace.

otanes.

Arsaces begs admittance to your presence,

To lay his sorrows at your feet.

sémiramis.

Arsaces!

What sorrows can Arsaces feel when I

Am near him, he who thus hath banished mine?

Quick, let him come: he knows not yet his power

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O’er the fond heart of his Sémiramis.

O thou dread shade whose voice alarmed my soul,

Whose blood no more calls out for vengeance on me,

And you, the guardian gods of this great empire.

Of the Assyrians, Ninus, and my son,

Unite to bless Arsaces! Ha! the sight

Alarms me; whence can these strange terrors rise?

SCENE V.

sémiramis, arsaces.

arsaces.

O queen, I am devoted to thy service;

My life is thine; and when I shed this blood,

I am rewarded if it flows for thee.

My father had some small renown in arms;

I saw him perish bravely in the field,

And at the head of thy victorious bands;

He left his hapless son a fair example,

Perhaps but ill pursued: I’ll not recall

The memory of my father’s services.

’Twould ill become me; at your royal knees,

Though here I sue for favor and protection:

Pity the rashness of a guilty youth,

Who listened to the dictates of imprudence.

And even in serving feared he might offend you.

sémiramis.

Offend me! thou, Arsaces! fear it not.

arsaces.

To-day you give your kingdom and your hand:

My heart, I know, should on the great event

Keep secret all its fears, and humbly still

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In silence, with depending monarchs, wait

To know our master; but this Assur steps

So haughtily, and triumphs in his conquest,

We cannot brook his pride: the people call him

Already their new sovereign; his high blood

And rank support him: may he prove himself

Worthy of both! but I have still a soul

Too proud to bend beneath him, or adore

The power I had defied: his jealous heart

I know detests Arsaces: let me then

Retire in safety, far from him, and thee:

Permit me to revisit the dear climes

Where first I served my royal mistress, there

His tyranny can never reach: perhaps

I may hereafter—

sémiramis.

Wilt thou leave me then,

And fearest thou Assur?

arsaces.

No: Arsaces fears

Naught but the anger of Sémiramis.

Perhaps thou knowest my fond ambition, then

I’ve cause indeed to tremble.

sémiramis.

Hope the best,

And know that Assur ne’er shall be thy master.

arsaces.

I own it shocked my soul to look on him

As Ninus’ successor: but is he then

Designed for Azema? forgive this bold

Presumptuous questioner: long since I know

She was to Ninias given, proud Assur sprung

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From the same race, and claims her as his own:

I am but a poor subject, yet I dare—

sémiramis.

Such subjects are my kingdom’s best support;

I know thee well; thy noble soul, superior

To vulgar minds, hath sought Sémiramis,

Not for her fortunes, but herself; thy eyes

Are fixed on her true interest, and on thee

I shall depend: Assur and Azema

Shall never meet; their union would be dangerous:

But their designs are known, and by my care

Will be prevented.

arsaces.

Since my heart at length

Is open to thee, and thou hast discovered—

azema.

[Enters suddenly, and throws herself at the feet of Sémiramis.

O queen, permit me thus—

sémiramis.

Rise, Azema:

Where’er my choice may light, thou mayest depend

On my protection, and shalt find respect

Due to thy birth; for, destined as thou wert

To be the wife of my lamented son,

I look upon thee with a mother’s eye:

[To them both.

Go, place yourselves with those whom I have called

To witness my resolves, and mark my choice.

[To Arsaces.

Be thou, my best protector, near the throne.

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SCENE VI.

The apartment of Sémiramis opens into a magnificent saloon richly ornamented; a number of officers in their proper habits on the steps of the throne, which is raised in the middle; the satraps on each side: the high priest enters with the magi, and places himself between Assur and Arsaces: the queen in the midst with Azema, and her attendants: guards at the lower end of the saloon.

oroes.

Ye princes, magi, warriors, the support

Of Babylon, assembled by command

From great Sémiramis, the will of heaven

Soon shall ye know: the gods that guard our empire

Have fixed on this important hour to work

A great and mighty change; whoe’er the queen

Shall here appoint her sovereign and our own

It is our duty to obey; and here

I bring my tribute to the throne, my prayers

And wishes for the glory and the welfare

Of them, and of their kingdom: may these days

Of joy and gladness ne’er be changed to hours

Of grief and sorrow, nor these songs of mirth

To mournful plaints!

azema.

A king, my lords, will soon

Be named; whoe’er he be, the choice will injure

Myself alone; but Azema was born

And must remain a subject; I submit

To the queen’s pleasure, and on her protection

Shall still depend; nor with the dark presage

Of future ills shall interrupt your joy:

But leave you my example of obedience.

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assur.

Howe’er the queen may choose, and heaven determine,

We must consult the public good alone;

Let us then swear by this imperial throne,

And great Sémiramis, to yield submissive,

And without murmuring to obey her will.

arsaces.

I swear it; and this arm that fought for her,

This heart obedient ever to her voice,

Which next the voice of heaven I still revered,

This blood which flowed with pleasure for her sake,

Shall be devoted to that royal master

Whom she appoints.

high priest.

I wait the great award

Of heaven and Sémiramis.

sémiramis.

Enough:

Each to his place, and now attend, my people.

[She seats herself on the throne.

[azema, assur, oroes (the high priest) andarsacestake their places, and she proceeds.

If in that hand which custom and the laws

Of an imperious husband had confined

To homely cares, and to a distaff chained,

I bore aloft the sceptre and the sword,

Beyond my subjects’ hope, nor sunk beneath

The weight of empire, let me now extend

To latest times its glory: ’tis my purpose

This day to take a partner in the throne:

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The gods must be obeyed, whose dread command

At length subdued my long unconquered heart:

They who deprived me of my son, perhaps

May one day raise an heir to Babylon

Worthy of empire, who shall follow me

Through all the thorny paths that I have trod,

Finish my work, and make my reign immortal.

I might have chosen a sovereign from the kings

That dwell around me, but they are all my foes,

Or tributary slaves: a foreign hand

Shall never wield this sceptre: my own subjects

Are better than the kings which they have conquered:

Belus was born a subject; if he gained

The diadem, he owed it to the people,

And to himself: by rights like his I hold

The power supreme; and, mistress of a kingdom

Larger than his, have bent beneath my yoke

The nations of the East, which Belus ne’er

Had seen or heard of: what he but attempted

Sémiramis performed; for they who found

A kingdom, and they only, can preserve it.

You want a king who may be worthy of you,

Worthy of such an empire, shall I add

Worthy the hand that crowns him, and the heart

Which I shall give: I have consulted heaven,

My country’s weal, the interest of mankind,

And choose a king to make the world more happy.

Adore the hero, see in him revived

The princes of my honored race; observe him,

And know, this king, this hero, is—Arsaces.

[She descends from the throne, and they all rise.

azema.

Arsaces! the perfidious—

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assur.

Rage and vengeance!

arsaces.

Believe me, Azema—

oroes.

Just heaven! avert

These omens.

sémiramis.

Thou who sanctifiest my choice,

Confirm it at the altar: see in him

Ninus and Ninias both restored.

[It thunders, and the tomb shakes.

O heaven!

What do I hear?

oroes.

Great gods, protect us now!

sémiramis.

The thunder comes, in anger or in love

I know not: pardon, gracious gods! Arsaces

Must win them to forgiveness. Ha! what voice

Distracts me thus? and see, the tomb is open.

O heaven! I die.

[The ghost of Ninus comes out of the tomb.

assur.

The shade of Ninus’ self.

Gods! is it possible?

arsaces.

What sayest thou? speak,

Thou god of terrors.

assur.

O unfold thy tale.

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sémiramis.

Comest thou to pardon, or to punish me?

It is thy sceptre and thy bed which here

I have bestowed: speak, is he worthy of it?

Determine: I obey thee.

the ghost of ninus to arsaces.

Thou shalt reign,

Arsaces, but there are some dreadful crimes

Which thou must expiate: hie thee to the tomb,

And to my ashes offer sacrifice:

Serve me and Ninias: remember well

Thy father: listen to the pontiff.

arsaces.

O!

Thou venerable shade, thou demigod,

Who dwellest within these walls, the sight of thee

Inspires but does not amaze Arsaces:

Yes, I will go, on peril of my life,

And meet thee in the tomb: but tell me, what

Must be the sacrifice? O speak! he’s gone.

[The ghost retires towards the entrance of the mausoleum.

sémiramis.

Thou honored spirit of my lord, permit me

Thus on my knees to pour my sorrows forth,

Permit me in the tomb to—

ghost.

[At the entrance of the tomb.

Stop: no farther:

Respect my ashes: when the time is come

I’ll send for thee.

[The ghost goes into the tomb, and the mausoleum closes.

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assur.

Amazing!

sémiramis.

Follow me,

My people, to the temple: be not thus

Dismayed: for know, the gentle shade of Ninus

Is not implacable; it loves your king,

And therefore will it spare Sémiramis:

Heaven that inspired my choice will now support it:

Haste then, and pray for me, and for Arsaces.

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Representing the porch of the temple.

arsaces, azema.

arsaces.

Do not oppress me in this hour of grief,

And aggravate my sorrows; I have borne

Enough already: this dread oracle

Affrights me; prodigies on every side

Disturb the course of nature: heaven deprives me

Of all, if Azema is lost.

azema.

No more,

False man, nor to the horrors of this day

Add the remembrance of thy perfidy;

No more the terrors of Sémiramis,

The walking spectre, and the opening grave,

Appal me now; of all the prodigies

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Which I have seen, thy base inconstancy

Hath shocked me most: go on, appease the shade

Of Ninus, and begin the sacrifice

With Azema; behold, and strike the victim.

arsaces.

It is too much; my heart was not prepared

Against this cruel stroke: thou knowest, my soul

Prefers thee to the empire of the world:

What was the object of that fame in arms

I held so dear, of all my victories?

All my ambition hoped for was at last

To merit thee: Sémiramis, thou knowest,

Was dear to both; thy tongue unites with mine

To praise her; she was still the guardian god

That cherished and protected us; as such

We both revered her with that pious zeal

And chaste regard which mortals bear to heaven:

Judge of my spotless faith by my surprise

At the queen’s choice, and mark the precipice

It leads us to, thence learn our future fate.

azema.

I know it.

arsaces.

Learn, that neither thou nor empire

Were destined for Arsaces; know, that son

Whom I must serve, the child of Ninus, he

Who must inherit here—

azema.

Well; what of him?

arsaces.

That Ninias, he who from his cradle lit

The torch of Hymen with thee, who was born

My rival and my master—

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azema.

Ninias!

arsaces.

Lives;

And will be with us soon.

azema.

Ha! then the queen—

arsaces.

Even to this day deceived, laments his death.

azema.

Ninias alive!

arsaces.

It is a secret yet

Within the temple, and she knows it not.

azema.

But Ninus crowns thee, and his widow’s thine.

arsaces.

Ay, but his son was born for Azema;

He is my king, so says the oracle,

And I must serve him.

azema.

But love claims his own,

And will be heard in spite of all, Arsaces:

His orders are not doubtful, or obscure.

Love is my oracle, and that alone

Shall be obeyed. Ninias, thou sayest, yet lives,

Let him appear, and let Sémiramis

Recall her plighted faith to him; let Ninus

Rise from the tomb, to join the fatal knot

Made in our infant years; let Ninias come,

My king, thy master, and thy rival, fired

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With all the love which once Arsaces had

For Azema, then see how I will slight

His proffered vows; then shalt thou see me scorn

The sceptre at my feet, and spurn a crown

Which is my due: where is he now? What secret,

What mystery veils him from us? Let him come;

But know, nor Ninias, nor Sémiramis,

No, nor the sacred spirit of his father

Risen from the tomb, nor all the powers of nature

Thrown in confusion, from my heart would wrest

The image of my perjured dear Arsaces:

Go, ask thy own, if it will dare to act

As mine hath done. What are those dreadful crimes

Which thou must expiate? if thou e’er shouldst break

The sacred tie that binds us, if thou art false,

I know no crime, no treachery like thy own.

I see the sage interpreter of fate

This way advancing, love will never plead

Thy cause with heaven, if thou betrayest me: go,

From Ninus’ hand receive thy doom; remember,

Thy fate depends on heaven, and mine on thee.

[Exit Azema.

arsaces.

Arsaces still is thine: stay, cruel maid:

How mingled is our happiness and woe!

What strange events that contradict each other—

SCENE II.

arsaces, oroes,the magi attending.

oroes.

[To Arsaces.

Let us retire to yonder lonely walk;

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I see you are much moved: prepare yourself

For strokes more dreadful.

[To the magi.

Bring the royal wreath.

[The magi bring the coffer.

This letter, and this sacred sword, to thee,

Arsaces, I deliver.

arsaces.

Reverend father,

Wilt thou not save me from the precipice

That gapes before me? wilt thou not at length

Uplift the veil, that from my eyes conceals

My future fate?

oroes.

’Twill be removed, my son;

The hour is come, when in his dreary mansions,

Ninus from thee expects a sacrifice

That shall appease his angry spirit.

arsaces.

What

Can Ninus ask, what sacrifice from me?

Must I be his avenger, when his son

Still lives? Let Ninias come; he is my king,

And I will serve him.

oroes.

’Tis his father’s will,

Thou must obey him: an hour hence, Arsaces,

Be at his tomb, armed with this sacred sword,

And with this wreath adorned, which Ninus wore,

And which thyself did bring to me.

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arsaces.

The wreath

Of Ninus!

oroes.

’Tis his royal will that thus

Thou shouldst appear, to offer up the blood

That must be shed; the victim will be there:

Strike thou, and leave the rest to him, and heaven.

arsaces.

If he requires my life, I’ll give it him:

But where is Ninias? thou speakest naught of him:

Thou hast not told me how his father gives

To me his kingdom and his queen.

oroes.

To thee

His queen! O heaven, to thee Sémiramis

Be given! Arsaces, the important hour

Which I had promised thee is come, when thou

Shalt know thy fate, and this abandoned woman.

arsaces.

Great gods!

oroes.

’Twas she who murdered Ninus.

arsaces.

She,

Saidst thou, the queen?

oroes.

Assur, that foul disgrace

Of human nature, Assur gave the poison.

arsaces.

I’m not surprised at Assur’s cruelty,

But that a wife, a queen, and such a queen,

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The pride of sovereigns, the delight of nations,

That she should e’er be guilty of a crime

So horrible! it passes all belief.

How can such virtues and such guilt as hers

Subsist together!

oroes.

How indeed! the question

Is worthy of thy noble heart: but now

’Twere needless to dissemble, every moment

Is big with some new secret, horrible

To nature, who already whispers to thee

Her soft complaints; thy generous heart, I see,

Spite of thyself, is shocked, and mourns within thee:

But wonder not that Ninus from the tomb

Indignant rises on this seat of guilt;

He comes to break the horrid nuptial tie,

Woven by the furies, and expose to light

Unpunished crimes; to save his son from incest:

He speaks to, he expects thee: know thy father,

For thou art Ninias, and the queen’s thy mother.

arsaces.

Thou hast o’erpowered me in one dreadful moment

With such repeated wonders, that I stand

Astonished, and the night of death surrounds me.

Am I his son, and can it be?

oroes.

Thou art:

Ninus, the morn before he died, foresaw

His end approaching; knew the deadly draught

Which he had drunk was ministered to thee

By the same hand, and, dying as thou wert,

Withdrew thee from this wicked court: for Assur

Had poisoned thee that he might wed thy mother,

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Thought to exterminate the royal race,

And open thus his passage to the throne:

But whilst the kingdom mourned thy loss, Phradates,

Our faithful friend, secreted and preserved thee;

With skilful hand the precious herbs prepared,

O’er Persia spread by her benignant God,

Whose wondrous power drew forth the latent venom

From thy parched limbs: his own son dying, you

Supplied his place, and still wert called Arsaces.

He waited patient for some lucky change,

But the great judge of kings had otherwise

Determined; truth at length descends from heaven,

And vengeance rises from the tomb.

arsaces.

O God!

Enough already hast thou tried thy servant,

Or must I yield that life which you restored?

Yes: I was born midst grandeur, shame, and horror:

My mother—Ninus! O what deadly purpose—

But if the traitor Assur was alone

To blame, if he—

oroes.

[Giving him the letter.

Behold this paper here,

Too faithful witness of her guilt, then say

If yet a doubt remains.

arsaces.

Haste, give it me,

And clear them all.

[He reads.

Ha! “Ninus to Phradates:

I die by poison, guard my Ninias well,

Defend him from his foes: my guilty wife—”

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oroes.

Needest thou more proof? this witness came from thee.

He had not finished; death, thou seest, broke off

The imperfect scroll, and stopped his feeble hand;

Phradates hath unfolded all the rest,

Read this, and learn the whole.

[Gives him another paper.

It is enough

That Ninus hath commanded thee, he guides

Thy steps, and leads thee to the throne, but says

He must have blood.

arsaces.

[After reading the paper.

O day of miracles,

And you, ye dreadful oracles from hell,

Dark as the tomb which I must visit, how

Shall I unveil your secret purposes,

When he who is to make the sacrifice

Knows not his victim! Who shall guide my choice?

I tremble at it.

oroes.

Tremble for the guilty.

Amidst the horrors that oppress thy soul,

The gods will guide thee; deem not thou thyself

A common mortal, from the race of men

Thou art distinguished, set apart by heaven,

And noted by its signature divine,

Walk thou secure, though night conceals thy fate,

The gods of thy great ancestors employ thee

But as their instrument. What right hast thou

To litigate their power, and to oppose

Thy masters? Saved from death, as thou hast been,

Be thankful still; complain not, but adore.

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SCENE III.

arsaces, mitranes.

arsaces.

I cannot reconcile this strange event:

Sémiramis my mother! can it be?

mitranes.

[Entering in haste.

My lord, the people in this hour of terror

Demand their king: permit me first to hail thee

The husband of Sémiramis, and lord

Of Babylon: the queen is hasting hither

In search of thee; I bless the happy hour

That gave her to thee: ha! not answer me!

Despair is in thy looks, thy lips are closed

In dreadful silence, thou art pale with terror,

And thy whole frame’s disordered: what has passed?

What have they said?

arsaces.

I’ll fly to Azema.

mitranes.

Amazing! can it be Arsaces? fly

A queen’s embraces; scorn her proffered love;

Insult her choice; the royal hand that spurned

Kings for thy sake! thus are her hopes betrayed?

arsaces.

Gods! ’tis Sémiramis herself; O Ninus,

Now let thy tomb in its dark bosom hide

Her crimes, and me!

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SCENE IV.

sémiramis, arsaces.

sémiramis.

Arsaces, all is ready,

We want but thee, great master of the world,

Whose fate, like mine, depends on thee; O haste,

And make our bliss complete! with joy I see

Thy brows encircled with that sacred wreath:

The priest, I know, was by the gods commanded

To crown thee with it; heaven and hell at once

Approve my choice, and by these signs confirm it:

Assur’s seditious party, struck with awe

And holy reverence, tremble at my presence;

Ninus, at length propitious, hath required

A sacrifice, O haste, and give it him,

That we may soon be blest: the people’s hearts

Are all with us, and Assur’s threats are vain.

arsaces.

[Walking about with great emotion.

Assur! away! in his perfidious blood

The parricide—we will revenge thee, Ninus.

sémiramis.

What do I hear? just heaven! speakest thou of him,

Of Ninus?

arsaces.

[Wildly.

Saidst thou not, his guilty hand

[Coming to himself.

Had shed—to arm against his queen! the slave,

That was enough to make me hate him.

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sémiramis.

Haste then,

Receive my hand, and thus begin thy vengeance.

arsaces.

My father!

sémiramis.

Ha! what looks are those, Arsaces?

Is this the soft submissive tender heart

Which I expected from thee, when I gave

My willing hand? That fearful prodigies,

And spectres rising from their dark domain,

Should leave the marks of horror on thy soul,

Alarms me not, I feel them too, but less

When I behold Arsaces: do not thus

O’erspread this fairest dawn of happiness

With sorrow’s gloomy shade, but still appear

Such as thou wert when trembling at my feet,

Lest Assur e’er should be thy master; fear

Nor him, nor Ninus and his angry shade;

My dear Arsaces, thou art my support,

My lord, my husband.

arsaces.

[Turning aside from her.

’Tis too much, O stop:

Her guilt o’erwhelms me.

sémiramis.

How his soul’s disturbed!

Alas! he wants that peace which he bestowed

On me.

arsaces.

Sémiramis—

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sémiramis.

What wouldst thou? speak.

arsaces.

I cannot: leave me, leave me: hence! begone.

sémiramis.

Amazing! leave thee! can I e’er forsake

Arsaces? O explain this mystery to me,

And ease my tortured soul: it makes us both

Unhappy:—ha! despair is in thy aspect;

Thou chillest my veins with horror, and thy eyes

Are dreadful; they affright me more than heaven

And hell united to oppose my vows:

Scarce can my trembling lips pronounce, I love thee:

Some power invisible now leads me on

Towards thee, now withholds me from thy arms,

And mingles, how I know not, tenderest love

With sentiments of horror and despair.

arsaces.

Hate me, abhor me.

sémiramis.

Canst thou bid me hate thee?

Cruel Arsaces, no: I still must trace

Thy footsteps, still my heart must follow thine:

What is that paper which thou lookest on thus

With horror, whilst thy eyes are bathed in tears,

Does that contain a reason for thy coldness?

arsaces.

It does.

sémiramis.

Then give it me.

arsaces.

I must not: darest thou—

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sémiramis.

I’ll have it.

arsaces.

Leave to me that dreadful scroll,

To thee ’twere fatal, I have use for it.

sémiramis.

Whence came it?

arsaces.

From the gods.

sémiramis.

And wrote by whom?

arsaces.

Wrote by my father.

sémiramis.

Ha! what sayest thou?

arsaces.

Tremble.

sémiramis.

Give it me, let me know at once my fate.

arsaces.

Urge it no more; there is death in every line.

sémiramis.

No matter: clear my doubts, or I shall think

That thou art guilty.

arsaces.

Ye immortal powers

That guide our steps, it is to your decrees

That I submit.

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sémiramis.

For the last time, Arsaces,

I here command thee, listen, and obey.

arsaces.

[Giving her the letter.

O may thy justice, heaven, be satisfied!

And this the only punishment that e’er

Shall be inflicted on her! now ’tis past,

And thou wilt know too much.

[She reads.

sémiramis.

[To Otanes.

What do I read?

Support me, or I die.

[She faints.

arsaces.

She sees it all.

sémiramis.

[Coming to herself, after a long silence.

Delay not, but fulfil thy destiny:

Punish this guilty, this unhappy wretch,

And in my blood wash out the deadly stain.

Nature deceived is horrible to both,

Avenge thy father, strike, and punish me.

arsaces.

No: let the sacred character I bear,

The name of son, preserve me from that crime!

Much rather would I pierce the heart of him

Who still reveres thee, the poor lost Arsaces.

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sémiramis.

[Kneeling.

Be cruel as Sémiramis; she felt

No pity, therefore be the son of Ninus,

And take my life: thou wilt not; nay, thy tears

Even mix with mine: O Ninias, ’tis a day

Of horrors, yet there’s pleasure in this pain.

Before thou givest me what I have deserved,

The stroke of death, let nature’s voice be heard:

O let a guilty mother’s tears bedew

That dear, that fatal hand.

arsaces.

I am thy son,

’Tis not for thee, whate’er thy guilt, to fall

Thus at my feet: O rise, thy Ninias begs,

He loves thee still, still vows obedience to thee,

Respect and purest love: consider me

As a new subject, only more submissive,

More humble, than the rest; I hope, more dear.

Heaven that restores thy son is sure appeased:

The gods who pardon thee reserve their vengeance

For Assur; leave him to his fate.

sémiramis.

Receive

My crown and sceptre, I have much disgraced them.

arsaces.

Still, I beseech you, hold me ignorant

Of all, and let me with the world adore you.

sémiramis.

O no: my guilt’s too flagrant.

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arsaces.

But repentance

May blot it out.

sémiramis.

Ninus hath given to thee

The reins of empire, thou must not offend

His vengeful spirit.

arsaces.

O it will relent

At thy remorse, and soften at my tears.

Otanes, in the name of heaven, preserve

My mother, and conceal the horrid secret.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

sémiramis, otanes.

otanes.

O ’twas some god that smiled propitious on thee,

Who thus prevented these abhorred nuptials;

Whilst nature shuddered at the approaching danger,

Gave thee a son, and saved thee thus from incest.

The oracles of Ammon, and the voice

From hell, the shades of Ninus, all declared

The day appointed for thy second marriage

Should end thy sorrows, but they never said

That marriage e’er should be accomplished: No:

The nuptials were prepared: thou hast fulfilled

Thy destiny: thy son reveres thee still:

Mild is the justice of offended heaven,

Which only asks a private sacrifice:

This day Sémiramis shall still be happy.

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sémiramis.

Alas! there is no happiness for me,

Otanes: Ninias smiles indeed upon me:

A mother’s sorrows for a time will plead

More strongly with him than the blood of Ninus,

And my past crimes; but soon his tenderness

And filial love may change perhaps to wrath

And fierce resentment for a murdered father.

otanes.

What fearest thou from a son? what dire presage—

sémiramis.

Fear is the natural punishment of guilt,

And still attends it: this detested Assur,

Has he attempted aught, say, does he know

What passed of late, and who Arsaces is?

otanes.

The dreadful secret still remains unknown;

The shade of Ninus is by all revered;

But how to comprehend the oracle

They know not; how they must avenge his ashes;

How serve his son—the minds of men are struck

With wild astonishment, in silence now

They wait the hour when the self-opened tomb

Shall banish all their fears, and make them happy.

Meantime the soldiers are in arms, the people

Crowd to the altars; wretched Azema,

Trembling and pale, with terror in her looks,

Walks round the tomb, and lifts her hands to heaven;

Whilst Ninias stands astonished in the temple,

Prepared to strike his victim yet unknown:

The gloomy Assur meditates revenge,

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Unites the remnants of his scattered party,

And forms some dark design.

sémiramis.

I have kept fair

Too long already with him: seize the traitor,

Otanes, bear him to my son in chains;

Ninias shall soon appease eternal justice,

At least with Assur’s blood, my vile accomplice.

Ninus, thou seest I am a mother still;

Thou seest my heart, O take it, take it all,

And may it rise a grateful sacrifice!

Ha! who approaches with such hasty steps?

How everything appals my fluttering soul!

SCENE II.

sémiramis, azema, otanes.

azema.

O Queen, forgive me if I come uncalled;

But terrors worse than death have forced me thus

To clasp thy knees, and beg thy royal mercy—

sémiramis.

What wouldst thou, princéss? speak.

azema.

To snatch a hero

From instant danger, stop a traitor’s hand,

And save Arsaces.

sémiramis.

Ha! what hand? Arsaces!

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azema.

He is thy husband, Azema’s betrayed,

He lives for you alone; no matter—

sémiramis.

He

My husband! gods!

azema.

The sacred tie that binds you—

sémiramis.

The tie is dreadful, impious, and abhorred:

Arsaces is—but speak, go on; I tremble:

What dangers? haste, and tell me.

azema.

Well thou knowest,

Perhaps this very moment, whilst I ask

Thy aid, perhaps—

sémiramis.

Well, what?

azema.

That demigod

Whom we adore, demands the sacrifice

Within the dreary labyrinths of the tomb:

What are the crimes Arsaces must atone for

I know not.

sémiramis.

Crimes! just heaven!

azema.

But impious Assur

Hath sworn to violate that sacred place

Which mortals dare not enter.

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sémiramis.

Ay! indeed!

Hath Assur sworn it?

azema.

In the dead of night

The wily traitor had long since secured

A safe retreat, if e’er occasion called,

Within the secret windings of the tomb,

Where now he means to do the bloody deed,

To brave the powers of hell, and wrath of heaven;

With sacrilegious hand he would destroy

The generous Arsaces.

sémiramis.

Heaven! what sayest thou?

By what detested means?

azema.

Believe a heart

By love enlightened, and by love inspired:

I know the traitor’s rank envenomed hatred,

Marked how the trembling faction by his zeal

Revived; I pried into their secret councils,

Pretended to unite his cause with mine,

And join our interests; I have looked into him,

Have wrested from his heart the fatal secret.

Boldly he marches on, and hopes to pass

Unpunished: well he knows that none dare enter

That holy place, not Oroes himself:

Thither he’s gone: meantime his slaves report

Arsaces is the victim that must die

For Babylon, and Ninus in his blood

Shall satiate his revenge: the nobles meet,

The people murmur; Ninus, Assur, heaven,

Are all incensed: I tremble for Arsaces.

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sémiramis.

My dearest Azema, heaven speaks by thee:

It is enough: I see what must be done.

Repose thyself with safety on a mother;

Daughter, our danger is the same; go thou,

Defend thy husband, I will save my son.

azema.

O heaven!

sémiramis.

I meant to wed him, but the gods

In mercy have forbade it: they inspire

A hapless mother now—but time is precious;

Go: leave me here, and in my name command

The nobles, priests, and people, to attend me.

[Azema goes into the porch of the temple, and Sémiramis advances toward the tomb.

Thou shade of Ninus, lo! I fly to avenge thee;

The hour is come when thou didst promise me

Admittance to thy tomb; I have obeyed thee,

Called by thy voice, behold me here to save

My son. Ye guards that wait around my throne

Approach: henceforth Arsaces is your king;

No more obedient to Sémiramis,

Observe his laws, to him the sovereign power

I here resign: be you his subject now,

And his defenders.

[Guards appear, and range themselves on each side at the further part of the stage.

Gracious heaven! protect me.

[She goes into the tomb.

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SCENE III.

azema.

[Returning from the porch of the temple to the front of the stage.

What can she purpose? O it is too late

To save him now; I know not what to think:

’Tis wondrous all; O ’tis a dreadful moment,

Arsaces! Ninias! ye immortal powers

Who guide our fate, O say, did you restore

My loved Arsaces but to snatch him from me?

SCENE IV.

azema, ninias.

azema.

Ha! Ninias! can it be? Art thou indeed

Great Ninus’ son, my sovereign, and my husband?

ninias.

O! thou beholdest me, Azema, ashamed

To know myself, sprung from the blood of gods,

And shuddering at the thought: O! Azema,

Remove my terrors, calm my troubled soul,

Strengthen my arm upraised to avenge a father.

azema.

Take heed how thou performest that dreadful office.

ninias.

He hath commanded, and I must obey.

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azema.

Ninus would never sacrifice his son:

Impossible!

ninias.

What says my Azema?

azema.

Ne’er shalt thou enter that abhorred place,

For know, a traitor lies in wait for thee.

ninias.

Who shall withhold or terrify Arsaces?

azema.

Thou art the victim to be offered there:

With sacrilegious steps the impious Assur

Profanes the sacred tomb, and rashly dares

To violate its privilege divine:

He waits thee there.

ninias.

Good heaven! then all is plain;

I’m satisfied: the victim is prepared;

My father, poisoned by the wicked Assur,

Demands the traitor’s blood: instructed thus

By Oroes, and conducted by the gods,

Armed by the hand of Ninus’ self, I go

To punish the assassin: thither led

By heaven’s eternal justice, my weak hand

Is but the instrument of power divine:

The gods do all, and my astonished soul

Yields to that voice which must decree my fate:

Spite of ourselves, our ways are noted down,

Marked, and determined: prodigies are spread

Around the throne, and spirits called from hell

To wander here: but fearless I obey.

Believe, and trust in heaven.

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azema.

Whate’er the gods

Have done but fills my soul with sad dismay:

Ninus was loved by them; yet Ninus perished.

ninias.

But now they will avenge him: cease thy plaints.

azema.

Oft have they chose the purest victim, oft

Have shed the blood of innocence.

ninias.

No more;

They will defend whom thus they have united:

They by a father’s voice exhorted us,

Gave me a throne, a mother, and a wife.

Soon shalt thou see me sprinkled with the blood

Of the vile murderer; from the tomb those gods

Shall lead me to the altar; I obey;

It is enough: the rest be left to heaven.

SCENE V.

azema.

[Alone.

O guard his footsteps in this fatal tomb!

Ye powers inscrutable, whose blood must flow

This day? I tremble for the event, and dread

The hand of Assur, long inured to slaughter;

Even on his father’s ashes may he shed

The blood of Ninias: O may the dark womb

Of hell receive and swallow up his rage!

Ye lightnings blast him! O illustrious shade

Of Ninus, wherefore wouldst thou not permit

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A wretched wife to go with her dear lord?

O guide, support him in this place of darkness!

Did I not hear the voice of Ninias mixed

With deadly groans? O would this sacred tomb,

Which I profane, but open to my wishes

The gate of death!—I will descend:—I go—

Hark! the earth shakes, and dreadful lightnings flash

Athwart the skies: fear, hope, despair—he comes.

SCENE VI.

ninias,a bloody sword in his hand,azema.

ninias.

O heaven! Where am I?

azema.

O! my lord, you’re pale,

And bloody, frozen with horror.

ninias.

’Tis the blood

Of the vile parricide: I wandered down

Even to the bottom of the tomb; my father

Still led me onward through its winding paths,

He walked before, and pointed out the place

Of my revenge: there, by the imperfect light

That glimmered through the dreary vault, I saw,

Or thought I saw, upraised the murderer’s sword:

Methought he trembled; guilt is ever fearful:

Twice did I plunge my sword into his heart,

And with my bloody arm, which rage had strengthened,

Had dragged him in the dust towards the place

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Whence the dim rays of light appeared: and yet

I own to thee, his deep heart-rending sighs,

The mournful sounds, imperfect as they were,

That reached my ears, his humble vows to heaven,

With that repentance which in his last hour

Seemed to possess his soul, the hallowed place,

The voice of pity, which, revenge once o’er,

Calls loudly on us, with I know not what

Of dark mysterious terror, shook my soul,

And made me leave the bleeding victim there.

What can this trouble, this strange horror mean

That dwells upon me, Azema? My heart

Is pure, ye gods, my hands are innocent,

Stained only with the blood you bid me shed;

I’ve served the cause of heaven, and yet am wretched.

azema.

The dead are satisfied, and nature too:

Come let us quit this horrid place, and seek

Thy mother, she shall calm thy troubled mind:

Since Assur is no more—

SCENE VII.

ninias, azema, assur.

[Assur appears at a distance with Otanes, surrounded by guards.

azema.

O heaven! he’s there.

ninias.

Assur!

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azema.

O haste, ye ministers of heaven,

Ye servants of the king, defend your master.

SCENE VIII.

oroes,the high priest, with the magi and people assembled,otanes, ninias, azema, mitranes, assur.

[Disarmed.

otanes.

They need not: by the queen’s command I’ve seized

The traitor, who attempted to profane

Yon sacred monument, and enter there:

I shall deliver him to thee.

ninias.

Alas!

What victim then hath Ninias sacrificed?

oroes.

Heaven is appeased, and vengeance now complete.

Behold, ye people, your king’s murderer.

[Pointing to Assur.

Behold, ye people, your king’s successor.

[Pointing to Ninias.

’Tis Ninias, Babylon’s lost prince, restored:

He is your sovereign, know him, and obey.

assur.

Thou Ninias!

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oroes.

Ay; ’tis he: the guardian god,

Who saved him from thy rage, hath brought him hither;

That god whose vengeance hath o’erthrown thee.

assur.

Ha! did Sémiramis then give thee life?

ninias.

She did, and power withal to punish thee:

Guards take him hence, and rid me of a monster.

He was not worthy of my sword; to fall

By Ninias’ hand had been a death too glorious.

The victim hath escaped me; let him die,

Even as he lived, with infamy: away.

assur.

It is my heaviest punishment to see

Ninias my sovereign: but ’tis pleasure still

To leave thee more unhappy than myself;

[Sémiramis appears at the foot of the tomb, wounded, and almost dead, one of the magi supporting her.

Look yonder, and behold what thou hast done.

[Pointing to Sémiramis.

ninias.

Whom have I slain?

azema.

Fly, my dear Ninias, fly

This fatal place.

mitranes.

What hast thou done?

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oroes.

[Placing himself between Ninias and the tomb.

Away;

And cleanse those bloody hands: give me the sword,

That fatal instrument of wrath divine.

ninias.

No: let me plunge it to my heart.

[He attempts to destroy himself, the guards interpose.

oroes.

Disarm him.

sémiramis.

[Brought forward and seated on a sofa.

Revenge me, O my son; some base assassin

Has slain thy mother.

ninias.

O unhappy hour;

Unheard of guilt! for know, that base assassin,

That monster was—thy son: this hand hath pierced

The breast that nourished and supported me:

But soon thou shalt have vengeance, Ninias soon

Shall follow thee.

sémiramis.

I went into the tomb

To save thee, Ninias; thy unhappy mother—

But from thy hands, I have received the fate

I merited.

ninias.

This last, this fatal stroke,

Sinks deep into my soul: but here I call

Those gods to witness who conducted me,

Those who misled my steps—

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sémiramis.

No more, my son:

Freely I pardon thee, and only make

This last request, that those dear hands may close

My dying eyes.

[He kneels.

A mother begs it of thee:

Thy heart I know was stranger to the deed:

O would that I had been as innocent

When Ninus died! but I have suffered for it.

Henceforth let mortals know, that there are crimes

Offended heaven never can forgive.

O Ninias, Azema, let your blessed union

Blot out my crimes; come near your dying mother;

Give me your hands; long may ye live and reign

In happiness! that hope still gives me comfort,

And mingles joy even with the pangs of death.

It comes, I feel it. O! my children, think

On your Sémiramis, O do not hate

My memory,—O my son, my son—’tis past.

oroes.

Her eyes are sunk in darkness: help the king

And guard his life. Learn from her sad example,

That heaven is witness to our secret crimes:

The higher is the criminal, remember,

The gods inflict the greater punishment;

Kings, tremble on your thrones, and fear their justice.

End of the Fifth and Last Act.

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CATILINE

Edition: current; Page: [226]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

CICERO,

SEPTIMUS,

CÆSAR,

CRASSUS,

CATILINE,

CLODIUS,

AURELIA,

CETHEGUS,

CATO,

LENTULUS-SURA,

LUCULLUS,

Conspirators,

MARTIAN,

Lictors.

The Scene represents, on one side, the palace of Aurelia; on the other the temple of Tellus, where the senate assembled: At a distance, a gallery communicating to some private passages that lead from the palace of Aurelia to the vestibule of the temple.

In his preface to this play Voltaire says:

“The learned will not here meet with a faithful narrative of Catiline’s conspiracy: a tragedy, they very well know, is not a history, but they will see a true picture of the manners of those times: all that Cicero, Catiline, Cato and Cæsar do in this piece is not true, but their genius and character are faithfully represented: if we do not there discover the eloquence of Cicero, we shall at least find displayed all that courage and virtue which he showed in the hour of danger. In Catiline is described that contrast of fierceness and dissimulation which formed his real character; Cæsar is represented as growing into power, factious, and brave; that Cæsar who was born at once to be the glory and the scourge of Rome.”

Edition: current; Page: [227]

ACT I.

SCENE I.

catiline.

[Soldiers at the bottom of the stage.

Yes, thou proud talker, thou vile instrument

Of a deluded people, soon thy power

Shall be no more; and thou whose savage virtue,

Inflexibly severe, destroys the nation

It means to save, imperious Cato, know

Thy doom is passed, thou and the tyrant senate

Must fall together; they who keep the world

In bondage shall themselves be slaves; their chains

Are forged already, and usurping Pompey

Shall pay for dear bought honors with his blood.

Cæsar, his haughty rival, shall oppose him,

His equal Cæsar: he who, like myself,

Was ever factious, shall assist my cause;

The snare is laid, and Cæsar shall prepare

The throne for Catiline; I’ll make them all

Subservient to my purpose: Cicero’s self,

The man whom most I hate, shall be my friend:

My wife too may be useful, and may prove

A step to greatness: fathers, husbands, all

Those empty names mistaken mortals call

Most sacred, hence, I give you to the winds:

Ambition, I am thine.

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SCENE II.

catiline, cethegus.

catiline.

Well, my Cethegus,

Whilst Rome and our designs are hid in night,

Say, hast thou called together our brave chiefs?

cethegus.

Even here, my lord, beneath this portico,

Safe from the consul’s prying eyes, and near

That impious scene where our proud tyrants sit,

Thy friends shall meet—already they have signed

The solemn compact, and are sworn to serve thee.

But how stands Cæsar, will he second us?

catiline.

He is a turbulent unruly spirit,

And acts but for himself.

cethegus.

And yet without him

We never shall succeed.

catiline.

I’ve laid a snare

He cannot escape: my soldiers, in his name,

Shall seize Præneste—he’s been long suspected.

This will confirm his guilt—the furious consul

Shall soon accuse him to the senate—Cæsar

Will hazard all to satiate his revenge.

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I’ll rouse this sleeping lion from his den,

And make him roar for me.

cethegus.

But Nonnius still

Rules in Præneste; he’s a friend to Rome.

In vain already thou hast tried to tempt

His stubborn virtue—what must be his fate?

catiline.

Thou knowest I love his daughter, though I hate

Her surly father: long he strove in vain

To thwart our mutual passion, and prevent

Our private marriage, which at last the churl

Unwillingly consented to: he feared

To incur his angry party’s high displeasure

And the proud consul’s—but I’ve made his pride

Subservient to our purpose—he is bound

By solemn oaths to keep our marriage still

A secret: Sura only and Cethegus

Are privy to it: this perhaps may serve

More purposes than one: Aurelia’s palace

Conducts us to the temple; there I’ve placed

My instruments of ruin, arms, and firebrands,

To execute our great design: thy zeal

To friendship much I owe, but more to love.

Beneath the senate’s sacred vault, beneath

The roof of Nonnius will we sacrifice

These tyrants—you, my friends, must to Præneste;

You to the capitol; remember whom

You serve, the oath that binds you, and the cause

You are engaged in—thou, my loved Cethegus,

Must watch o’er all, and guide the great machine.

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SCENE III.

aurelia, catiline.

aurelia.

O Catiline, my lord, my husband, ease

My troubled heart, remove my doubts, my fears,

My horror, my despair—alas! what means

This dreadful preparation?—every step

I tread alarms me; why these soldiers, why

With arms and torches is my palace filled?

The days of Marius and of Sulla sure

Are now returned, and discord reigns amongst us:

Explain, my lord, this dreadful mystery:

Do not turn from me—by the sacred tie

That joins our hearts, by the dear babe thou lovest,

I talk not to thee of its mother’s danger,

For thee alone I tremble: pity me,

Pity a wretched wife, and tell me all.

catiline.

Know then, my life, my fortune, and my fame,

Thy safety, and my own, the common cause,

Demand a conduct which thy fears condemn:

But if thou lovest me, let whate’er thou seest

Be buried in thy breast: I mean to save

Rome’s better part; the senate and the people

Are disunited—danger threats the state

On every side; I’ve taken the best means

To make all well again.

aurelia.

I hope thou hast;

But can we hide our hearts from those we love?

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Canst thou deceive me? yet what thou hast said

Doubles my fears. Alas! thy looks are wild,

And full of horror. What will Nonnius say

When he shall see these dreadful preparations?

The voice of nature, and the tender names

Of father and brother oft have passed

Unheard and unregarded when the cause

Of Rome required it—well thou knowest our marriage

Gave much offence, and when my angry father

Returning, shall behold these sad effects

Of our unhappy union, what, my lord,

Must I expect? O why wilt thou abuse

The power which love has given thee o’er a heart

Devoted to thy service?—thou hast gained

A party, but consider well my father,

Cato, and Cicero, and Rome, and heaven,

Are all thy foes: Nonnius perhaps may come

This very day on purpose to destroy thee.

catiline.

Be not afraid, I know he cannot.

aurelia.

How?

catiline.

Whene’er he comes he must approve our purpose:

I am not left at liberty to tell thee

What we design, suffice it that his interest

And mine are one: I know when he shall find

The fair result, he then will join with me

To pull down the proud tyrants he obeys:

Trust me, Aurelia, what I do shall prove

The fertile spring of everlasting glory

And honor to you both—

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aurelia.

Alas! the honor

I fear is doubtful, and the danger certain:

What seekest thou? wherefore wouldst thou urge thy fate?

Is it not enough to rank among the first

Of human kind, and rule the subject world?

Why wouldst thou mount the giddy heights of power,

And court destruction? my foreboding heart

Already sees, and trembles at thy danger.

Are these the promised joys of flattering love?

The peace I hoped for? I have lost it now

For ever: O, my lord, when last these eyes

Were in a short and broken slumber closed,

Methought I saw in flames imperial Rome;

Saw murders, deaths, and rivers stained with blood,

My father massacred in open senate,

And thee, my Catiline, amidst a band

Of vile assassins, breathing forth thy soul

In dreadful agonies: I rose, and fled

From these sad images to find my lord,

My guardian, my protector—thou art here,

And I, alas! am but the more unhappy.

catiline.

Away—thy omens fright not Catiline;

Complain not, but be resolute: I want

Thy courage, not thy tears, when I am serving

Thee and my country.

aurelia.

Is it thus thou meanst

To serve her? O, my lord, I know not what

Thy purpose is, but were it fair and just

Perhaps I might long since have been consulted;

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Our mutual interest claimed it from a husband:

If thou dissemblest with me, I have cause

To doubt, and to be wretched—Cicero

Has long suspected thee, and Rome thou knowest

Adores him.

catiline.

Whom? my hated rival?

SCENE IV.

catiline, aurelia, martian.

One of the Conspirators.

martian.

Sir,

The consul comes this way—by his command

The senate meet; he wishes first to see

And speak with you.

aurelia.

I tremble at his name.

catiline.

Why tremble at the name of Cicero?

Let Nonnius fear and reverence him, disgrace

His rank and character by mean submission;

I pity the weak senator, but hoped

To find in thee a noble soul: not thus,

Remember, acted thy brave ancestors:

Gods! that a woman, and a Roman, sprung

From Nero’s blood, should thus be void of pride

Or of ambition! noble minds are ne’er

Without them.

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aurelia.

Mine perhaps thou thinkest is mean

And timid; cruelty alone with thee

Is courage; thy reproach is most unkind;

But know me better; know that this fond wife,

Whom thou contemnest, who has not power to change

Or soften thee, has more of Roman in her

Than thou canst boast; and, coward as she is,

Can teach thee how to die.

catiline.

How many cares

At once surround me!—Cicero comes—but him

I fear not: this Aurelia.—

SCENE V.

cicero, catiline,Chief of the Lictors.

cicero.

[To the Chief Lictor.

Do as I

Command you—I’ll try if I can sound

This faithless heart; leave me alone with him:

Sometimes a villain may be wrought by fear

To better counsel, and renounce his purpose.

Who’s there? the proud plebeian, chosen by Rome

To be her master?

[Turns to Cataline.

Ere the senate meet,

Catiline, I come for the last time to hold

The friendly torch, and save thy wandering steps

From the dread precipice of guilt and ruin.

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catiline.

Who, thou?

cicero.

Yes, I.

catiline.

And is it thus thy hate

Pursues me?

cicero.

Call it pity—but observe me.

The capitol is weary of thy plaints,

Thy factious cries, and bold impertinence;

Rome, and the senate have, it seems, debased

The consul’s dignity by choosing me:

Thy pride we know expected it, but how

Hadst thou deserved it? was it by the name,

Or family, thy valor, or the pride

Of a loose prodigal in shows and feasts

And idle pomp; could these entitle thee

To such exalted honors? couldst thou hope

To be the great dispenser of the laws,

To guide the mistress of the world who rules

O’er prostrate kings? had Catiline been what

He ought to be, I might perhaps to him

Have yielded the contested palm.—Hereafter

Thou mayest support the state, but to be consul

’Tis fit thou first shouldst be—a citizen.

Thinkest thou by vile reflections on my birth,

My fortune, and my fame, to taint my honor,

Or weaken the firm basis of my power?

In our corrupted days it is not name,

Or family, that Rome has need of: no:

’Tis virtue; and the pride of Cicero

Hath ever been, that he should nothing owe

To his forefathers—my nobility

Springs from myself, and thine may end in thee.

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catiline.

It ill becomes a temporary power,

Like thine, to boast of its authority.

cicero.

Had Cicero used that power as thou deservest,

Thou wouldst not have been here to question it:

Thou who hast stained our altars with pollution

And sacrilegious rage, thy days are numbered

But by thy crimes: thy merit is to dare,

To strike at all, dissemble, and betray:

Thou hast abused the precious gifts that heaven

Bestowed on thee for other purposes:

Sense, beauty, courage, and heroic warmth,

All the fair ornaments of human nature,

In thee are but the instruments of ill.

My voice, which still is raised to scourge the wicked,

And plead for the oppressed, hath spared thee yet;

Nor with the odious Verres ranked the name

Of Catiline: but long impunity

Hath made thee shameless, and insensible

Of all reproof—thou hast betrayed the state:

At Rome, and in Etruria all is discord,

And foul confusion; Umbria is revolted;

Præneste staggers in her faith; the soldiers

Of barbarous Sulla, drenched in blood, come forth

From their dark caves prepared for slaughter, armed

By cruel Mallius; all are leagued with thee;

Thy partisans declared, or secret friends,

All are united in one guilty bond,

And sworn to the destruction of their country:

I know thee for their chief, for I have eyes

On every side, and hands too, thou shalt find,

That, spite of thee, shall vindicate the cause

Of injured Rome; thy guilty friends shall feel

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My justice too: thou hast beheld me long

But as thy rival, now behold thy judge,

And thy accuser, who will force thee soon

To answer for thy actions by those laws

Which thou so oft hast trampled on unpunished,

Those laws which thou contemnest, and I revenge.

catiline.

I’ve told you, sir, already, that your office

But ill excuses this indecent freedom:

But for that country’s sake, whom both are bound

To serve, I pardon your unjust suspicions;

Nay, I do more, I honor your warm zeal;

Blind though it be, in such a cause ’tis just:

But do not thus reproach me for past errors,

For the wild follies of impetuous youth,

That soon are o’er; your senate is to blame,

I followed their example; pomp and pride,

Excess and luxury, the fruits of conquest,

Are the time’s vices, not the native bent

Of Catiline’s heart: I served the commonweal

In Asia as a soldier, as a judge

In Africa: spite of our domestic feuds,

Did I not make the name of Rome revered

Among the nations? I who have defended

Shall ne’er betray her.

cicero.

Sulla too and Marius

Both served their country well, and then destroyed her.

Tyrants have all some specious show of virtue,

And ere they break their country’s laws support them.

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catiline.

If you suspect each brave and gallant soldier,

Let Cæsar, Pompey, Crassus be accused:

Why fix on me amongst so many? why

Am I the only object of your fears?

Have I deserved it?

cicero.

That you best can tell.

But wherefore deign I thus to answer you?

catiline.

The more I plead in my defence, the more

Will Cicero condemn me: if as friend

Thou talkest to me, thou but deceivest thyself,

I am thy foe; if as a citizen,

So too is Catiline; if as a consul,

A consul’s not a master, he presides

But in the senate, I defy him there.

cicero.

Thou durst not; for I there can punish guilt:

If thou art innocent, I will protect thee;

If not, I charge thee, be not seen in Rome.

catiline.

This is too much: I will no longer bear

Thy insults, though I scorn thy vague suspicions:

Yet know I think the worst affront that thou

Couldst put on Catiline, would be to protect him.

cicero.

[Alone.

Insolent traitor! means he thus to prove

His innocence by false affected pride?

Perfidious wretch, I’m not to be deceived,

Nor shalt thou thus escape the watchful eye

Of vengeance.

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SCENE VI.

cicero, cato.

cicero.

Well, my friend, hast thou prepared

For Rome’s defence?

cato.

Your orders are obeyed;

I have disposed the chiefs, and all are ready

To march as you direct them; but I fear

The people, nay the senate.

cicero.

Ha! the senate?

cato.

Ay—they are swollen with pride—and foul division

Will soon enslave them.

cicero.

Much indeed I fear

Our vices will avenge the conquered world;

Our liberty and virtue are no more;

But Rome may still have hope whilst Cato lives.

cato.

Alas! who serves his country often serves

A most ungrateful mistress—even thy merit

Offends the senate; with a jealous eye

It views thy greatness.

cicero.

Cato’s approbation

Is recompense enough; thy honest praise

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Will more than balance their ingratitude;

On that and on posterity alone

I shall rely; let us perform our duty,

And leave the rest to heaven.

cato.

How shall we stem

The torrent of corruption? when I see,

Even in this sacred temple, raised to virtue,

Infamous treason rise with shameless front:

Can we suppose that Manlius, that proud rebel,

Would dare advance his standard, and blow up

The flames of civil war, if greater powers

Did not support him, if some secret foe

Abetted not their vile conspiracy?

The leaders of the senate may betray us;

From Sulla’s ashes may new tyrants rise:

My just suspicions light on Cæsar.

cicero.

Mine

On Catiline; perfidious, sordid, rash,

And bold; he loves rebellion, and delights

In novelty; more dangerous than Cæsar;

I know him well; even now I parted from him:

What passed between us but confirms me more

In my suspicions; on his face I read

Rage and resentment, the determined pride

Of his fierce spirit, that no longer deigned

To hide its purpose, but stood forth, and owned

Its enmity to Rome.—I must discover

His bold compeers, perhaps I may prevent

His future crimes, and save my falling country.

cato.

Catiline has friends, and much I fear the power

Of these united tyrants may prove fatal:

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Our forces are in Asia, and at Rome

We are corrupted; but one upright man

May save the state.

cicero.

If we unite, our country

Has naught to fear—in factions discord soon

Dissolves the tie: Cæsar perhaps may join them;

But, if I know him right, his noble soul

Will never stoop to serve a worthless tyrant;

He loves his country still, and hates a master;

Though soon the time will come when he shall strive

To be one; both are eager for applause,

And both ambitious: both are raised too high

To meet in friendship long; by their division

Rome may be saved; let us not tamely wait

To see our country’s ruin, or behold

In shameful chains the masters of mankind.

End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

catiline, cethegus.

cethegus.

At length the torch is lit to set on fire

Rome and the subject world; our army’s nigh,

And all is ready for the great event.

Knowest thou meantime, my friend, what passes here?

catiline.

I know the consul’s prudence, so he calls

His cowardice, which deeply ruminates

On future ills: like an unskilful pilot

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He sets up every sail for every wind,

But knows not or which way the tempest comes,

Or whither it may drive him—for the senate,

I fear it not; that many-headed monster,

So proud of conquest and nobility,

Looks with an evil eye on Cicero;

I know it hates him, so does Cæsar; Crassus

Would gladly yield him up a sacrifice

To our resentment; on their jealousy

Depend my hopes—he’s like a dying man,

With feeble arm he struggles for a while,

But soon shall sink beneath us and expire.

cethegus.

Envy I know attacks him, but his tongue

Can soften all; he leads the captive senate.

catiline.

I brave him everywhere; despise his clamors,

And smile at his resentment: let him rail

To his last hour, and triumph in the shouts

Of his admirers, I have other cares

That sit more heavy on me.

cethegus.

What should stop

Thy rapid progress in the paths of glory

And happiness? Canst thou have aught to fear?

catiline.

My numerous foes I heed not, ’tis my friends

I have most cause to dread; the jealousy

Of Lentulus, the aspiring soul of Cæsar,

And, above all, my wife.

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cethegus.

Shall Catiline

Be frightened at a woman’s tears?—for shame,

Leave her to indulge her visionary fears:

I thought thou lovest her as a master should,

And madest her but the servile instrument

Of thy ambition.

catiline.

’Tis a dangerous one:

Rome and her child divide with me her love.

Curse on the name of Rome, that even beneath

The roof of Catiline those should dwell who love

Their country! But before the important hour

That must decide our fate, she shall be moved,

She and her son—be that thy care, Cethegus:

Our wives and children must not trouble us

In those distressful moments—but for Cæsar—

cethegus.

What’s to be done? if he refuse to join

Our cause, shall we proscribe him; shall the names

Of Cicero and of Cæsar be united?

catiline.

Let me consider—to cut Cæsar off—

That were a dreadful sacrifice; methinks

I cannot but admire him, and revere

In him the honor of the Roman name:

But where is Lentulus?

cethegus.

O fear not him;

His pride we know will prompt him to believe

That thou with him wilt share the sovereign power.

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catiline.

Let him believe it still! the credulous fool!

Thou seest, Cethegus, with what sublety

I’m forced to manage these imperious spirits;

Their rage, resentment, pride and jealousy:

Knowest thou he dares even to be Cæsar’s rival?

To keep my friends within the pale of prudence

Will cost me much more trouble than the ruin

Of Cicero and Rome—to guide a party

Is of all tasks the hardest.—

cethegus.

Lentulus

Is here, my lord.

SCENE II.

catiline, cethegus, lentulus-sura.

sura.

In spite of my remonstrance

You will rely on Cæsar, and confide

In him alone; Præneste’s in his power.

And I must yield to him; but know I scorn it,

The blood of Scipio was not made to yield.

catiline.

I’ve joined with Cæsar, but depend not on him;

He may support our cause, or he may hurt it;

I use his name, but ’tis for your advantage.

sura.

And what is there in Cæsar’s name superior

To yours or mine? why must we meanly court

His favor? but because he’s Pompey’s rival

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Rome makes a God of him.—I am thy friend;

Sura and Catiline may defy them all,

And without Cæsar make the world their own.

catiline.

We may—thy conduct and approved valor

Have ever been my best and surest hope;

But Cæsar is beloved, respected, feared;

The senate and the people all admire

And court him; statesman, general, magistrate;

In peace revered, and terrible in war;

A thousand ways he charms the multitude;

In short he will be necessary.—

sura.

Say

Destructive rather—if to-day he shines

Our equal, by to-morrow he will prove

Our rival, and ere long perhaps our master;

Trust me, I know him well, and therefore think

Our party has not a more dangerous foe:

Perhaps his haughty soul may yield to thee,

But play the tyrant o’er the rest; for me,

I cannot, will not, brook it—I’ve devoted

My honor and my fortunes to thy service;

But I renounce my plighted faith, renounce

Thee and thy cause, if Cæsar is preferred.

catiline.

And so thou shalt—I’d sacrifice my life

Rather than e’er permit a haughty rival

To soar above us—Cæsar is our tool,

Our instrument; to-day I flatter him,

To-morrow can bring down his pride, perhaps

Do more—thou knowest our mutual happiness

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And interest are my first and dearest care.

[To Cethegus.

Away, and let Aurelia be prepared:

Go; or her fond intruding love may ruin

Our deep laid schemes, and mar the great design:

Return some private way and meet me here,

I wait for Cæsar.

sura.

Nothing’s to be done.

I find, without him—but I’ll wait the event.

catiline.

Farewell: remember I rely on thee

More than on Cæsar.—

cethegus.

I shall execute

Your high command, and gather all our friends

Before the standard of great Catiline.

SCENE III.

catiline, cæsar.

catiline.

Hail, godlike Cæsar, thou whom from the days

Of Sulla I have ranked amongst my best

And dearest friends, whose fortunes I foretold:

Born as thou art to be the first of Romans,

How suits it with thy pride to be the slave

Of a plebeian, who forever thwarts

And braves thee to thy face? I know thou hatest him;

Thy piercing eye observes impatient Rome

Contending for her freedom, will not Cæsar

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Assist his country to shake off her chains?

The cause is noble, and the fate of millions

Depends on this important crisis; thou

Wilt join us—lookest thou not with jealous eye

On Pompey still? dost thou not still abhor

The surly Cato? canst thou serve the gods

With half thy wonted zeal when the proud consul

Presides at the altar? will thy noble spirit

Bear these imperious rulers; soft Lucullus,

Sunk in the arms of luxury and sloth;

The greedy Crassus, grasping his large heaps

Of ill-got wealth, enough to purchase Rome

And all her venal sons? on every side

Or faction or corruption reigns; the world

Calls out on Cæsar; wilt thou hear her voice?

Wilt thou redress and save thy falling country?

Will Cæsar listen to his friend?

cæsar.

He will;

And if the senate do thee wrong, step forth

To plead thy cause; I never will betray thee;

But ask no more.

catiline.

Are these the utmost bounds

Of Cæsar’s friendship, but to talk for him?

cæsar.

I’ve weighed the projects, and shall not oppose them;

I may approve, but would not execute.

catiline.

I understand you, you are on that side

Which fortune favors, and would stand aloof

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To mark the progress of our civil wars,

And raise your fortunes on the common ruin.

cæsar.

No—I have nobler views; my hate of Cato,

My jealousy of Pompey, the renown

Of Cicero, conspire to make me wish

I might surpass them all; fair glory calls,

The banks of Seine, the Tagus, and the Rhine;

I pant for honor, and for victory.

catiline.

If conquest is thy aim, begin with Rome;

To-morrow we may reign the masters of her.

cæsar.

The enterprise is great, perhaps too bold;

But, to be open with thee, though ’tis worthy

Of Catiline, it suits not Cæsar.

catiline.

How!

cæsar.

I do not choose to serve.

catiline.

To share with Cæsar

Were no dishonor to the most ambitious.

cæsar.

But power supreme is not to be divided:

I’ll not be dragged at Catiline’s chariot wheels

To grace his triumph: as a friend I love thee;

But know that friend shall never be—my master:

Even Pompey shall not—Sulla, whom thy valor

Hath nobly followed in the race of glory,

Whose courage I admire, whose lawless rage

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I ever shall abhor, enslaved proud Rome:

But he deserved the glorious prize, subdued

The Hellespont, and made Euphrates tremble:

Asia was conquered: Mithridates owned

His martial genius—but what noble deeds

Hast thou to boast? what kings hast thou subdued?

What seas has Catiline passed, what lands explored?

Thou hast the seeds of greatness in thy nature;

But to enslave thy country is above

Thy present powers, above the powers of Cæsar:

We have not strength, authority or name

For such an enterprise. Rome soon must fall:

But ere I will attempt to be her master,

I will extend her empire and her glory;

And if I forge my country’s chains, at least

Will cover them with laurels.

catiline.

Mine, perhaps,

Is, after all, the shortest path to glory:

How did your boasted Sulla rise to empire?

He had an army, so has Catiline;

Raised by myself alone, and not, like his,

The gift of fortune; he observed with care

The favorable hour, and well improved it:

I have done more; have made the times and seasons

Subservient to me. Sulla was a king.

Wouldst thou be one? wilt thou be Cicero’s slave,

Or rule with Catiline?

cæsar.

Neither. To be free,

For I no longer will dissemble with you,

I esteem Cicero; but love him not,

Nor fear him: though I love, I dread not thee.

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Divide the senate if thou canst, pull down

The proud oppressors; thou hast my consent;

But hope no more, nor dare to think that Cæsar

Will ever be thy slave: I’ll keep thy secret,

And be thy friend or foe, as thou deservest it.

SCENE IV.

catiline.

If he supports us not, even let him fall

The victim of his folly: Sulla knew

And would have cut him off, but Sulla dared not:

I know he is my secret enemy,

As such I shall beware of him.

SCENE V.

catiline, cethegus, lentulus-sura.

sura.

What says

The mighty Cæsar? is he friend or foe?

catiline.

His barren friendship only offers me

A feeble aid; but we can do without him:

Perhaps he may repent it; and meantime

We’ve better pillars to support the fabric.

Behold, the heroes come.

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SCENE VI.

catiline, the conspirators.

catiline.

Hail, bold Statilius,

Valiant Autronius, noble Piso, hail,

Vargontes, and the rest of my brave friends,

The first of men, the conquerors of kings,

The great avengers of a world oppressed,

This seat of empire soon shall be your own:

The vanquished nations, which your valor gained,

Were ravished from you by usurping tyrants;

For the proud senate still your blood hath flowed;

For them Tigranes, Mithridates fell;

For them alone; and all your poor reward

Was but to stand at distance, and adore

Your haughty masters; but at length the hour

Of vengeance is approaching: be prepared

For no inglorious enterprise: I know

Your souls would scorn a victory cheaply bought;

But I will bring you noble conquests, full

Of danger and of glory: seize, my friends,

The golden opportunity: already

I see your foes expiring at your feet.

Rush on your prey, burn, plunder, and destroy;

But, above all, let union guide your counsels:

Even now Præneste falls: the brave remains

Of Sulla’s scattered forces march towards us:

I shall command them, and Rome must be yours

Petreius vanquished, I shall clear my way

Even to the capitol: then you, my friends,

Shall rise to empire, to a throne disgraced

Edition: current; Page: [252]

By worthless Romans, and by you restored

To its true lustre: Curius and his band

Will open me the gates; but tell me, friend,

The gladiatorian cohorts, where are they?

Will those brave veterans join our cause?

lentulus-sura.

They will:

Myself shall lead them in the dead of night,

And arm them in this secret place.

catiline.

Mount Cælius—

Is that secured?

statilius.

I’ve bribed the sentinels,

And all is safe.

catiline.

You to mount Aventine

Repair, and soon as Mallius shall display

His colors, light your torches, spread destruction

On every side; let the proscribed perish.

Let Cicero—ye have sworn it—be my first

My darling victim: Cæsar too must die,

And Cato; these removed, the senate soon

Will tremble and obey: already fortune

Declares for us, and blinds them to their ruin:

Within their walls, and almost in their sight

We lay the snares of death, and mark them out

For sacrifice: remember not to take up arms

Before the appointed time: we must surprise

Ere we destroy: let Cicero and Rome

Perish together, and the lightning blast

Before the thunder’s threatening voice alarms them.

Call not this deed a foul conspiracy;

’Tis a just war declared against the foes

Edition: current; Page: [253]

Of Rome and all mankind; reclaim your rights,

The empire of the world, which base usurpers

Had ravished from you.

[To Cethegus and Lentulus-Sura.

Haste, ye gallant leaders,

Haste to the senate; see your victims there:

Hear your proud consul roar; ’tis the last time

That he shall triumph there—now, worthy Romans,

Swear by this sword, that with the blood of tyrants

Shall soon be stained, to perish, or to conquer,

With Catiline.

martian.

By thee and by this sword

We swear with thee to perish or to conquer.

another conspirator.

Perish the senate! perish all who serve,

All who defend them! if there be amongst us

A traitor, let him die.

catiline.

Away, this night

Will finish all, and Rome shall be our own.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

catiline, cethegus, martian, septimus.

catiline.

Are all things ready? do our troops advance?

martian.

Even so, my lord; the faithful Mallius comes

Prepared to circle these devoted walls;

Edition: current; Page: [254]

Our friends impatient brook not dull delay,

But urge each other to the bloody scene;

We wait but thy command; appoint the hour

When Rome must fall.

catiline.

Soon as I quit the senate

Begin the sacrifice: let this great day

Be sacred to destruction: but meantime

Take special care the consul’s busy friends

Do not observe our motions.

cethegus.

Were it not

Most prudent to destroy him in the senate?

He has alarmed the people, and foresees

Our every action.

catiline.

Knows he the revolt

Of Mallius? knows he Catiline’s deep designs?

Knows he an army is approaching for me?

Fear not, my friends, ours is no common cause,

’Tis fit the means should be proportioned to it:

When vulgar mortals, grovelling and obscure,

Form ill-digested schemes, and idle plans

Of future greatness, if one slender wheel

Is broke, it overthrows the whole machine:

But souls like ours, a firm and chosen band,

Plans deeply laid, the conquerors of kings,

The sons of Mars, united to support

And raise each other, these must be superior

To Cicero’s art, or Cicero’s vigilance:

We’ve naught to fear.

Edition: current; Page: [255]

cethegus.

But is Præneste ours

In Cæsar’s name?

catiline.

Ay; that was my first stroke

Of policy: the unsuspecting senate

Will be deceived: I’ve whispered it abroad,

That Nonnius hath conspired against the state,

And half our credulous fools believe the tale.

Ere he can clear his innocence, my army

Will be in Rome, and all secured: away,

Remove Aurelia: let no little cares

Intrude to stop or hurt the great design.

SCENE II.

aurelia, catiline, cethegus, etc.

aurelia.

[A letter in her hand.

There, Catiline, read Aurelia’s fate and thine,

Thy crime and thy just sentence.

catiline.

What rash hand—

Ha! ’tis thy father’s.

aurelia.

Read it.

catiline.

[Reads the letter.

“Death too long

Hath spared me, and the child I loved too well

Must finish my sad days: at length I suffer

Edition: current; Page: [256]

For my own follies, and that hapless marriage

Which I consented to; I know the plots

Of thy vile husband: Cæsar has betrayed us,

And would have seized Præneste: thou partakest

The treason: but repent, or perish with them.”

But how could Nonnius e’er discover that

Which even the consul knows not?

cethegus.

This may prove

Our ruin.

catiline.

[To Cethegus.

It may turn to our advantage.

Aurelia, I must tell thee all: this day

The world is armed in Catiline’s defence:

Say, in the hour of danger wilt thou serve

A father or a husband?

aurelia.

To be silent,

And trouble thee no more, were the commands

Which Catiline laid on his neglected wife,

Spite of her fond entreaties, prayers, and tears:

What hast thou further to desire?

catiline.

Away:

This moment, send that letter to the consul;

I have my reasons; I would have him know,

That Cæsar is as much to be suspected

As I am: he’s accused, and Catiline not

So much as named: it is as I could wish.

Take with thee our loved infant, and return not

To bleeding Rome, till I am master there:

Then thou shalt reign with me: our marriage yet

Edition: current; Page: [257]

Is kept a secret: I’ll not have it known,

’Till at the head of our victorious army

I shall proclaim it loud to Italy,

And to the world: then shall thy haughty father,

As our first subject, humbly bend before thee,

And sue to be forgiven: begone, Aurelia,

And leave me to my fate. I would not wish

Thou shouldst partake my dangers or my cares:

This night prepare to meet a conqueror.

aurelia.

O Catiline, meanest thou to destroy thy country?

Is this the day appointed for destruction?

catiline.

To-day I purpose to chastise my foes;

All is prepared.

aurelia.

Begin then with Aurelia;

For I had rather perish by thy hand,

Than live to share thy guilt.

catiline.

O let the tie

That binds us—

cethegus.

Drive not thus to desperation

A husband and a friend, who trusts his all

To thee; thou art entered in the paths of glory,

And to retreat were fatal.

aurelia.

Misery

And sure destruction were Aurelia’s fate:

Edition: current; Page: [258]

From that unhappy moment, when by thee

And thy vile counsels led, I gave my hand

To Catiline; despised, neglected, long

Have I beheld, with eyes of detestation,

Your horrid plots: spite of myself you made me

A vile accomplice; but you know I loved,

And basely have imposed upon my weakness:

I blush to think how grossly you abused

A woman’s fond credulity; but know

I’ll no longer be guilty of a crime

Which I abhor: no longer serve a tyrant:

No, I renounce my vows, my faith to thee;

These hands shall rise against thee, thou vile traitor:

Henceforth I am thy foe. Strike, Catiline, strike;

Destroy me; carry into burning Rome,

For thy first victim, an expiring wife

Slain by thy hand; destroy the hapless infant,

Sad pledge of our detested nuptials: then,

Barbarian as thou art, complete thy guilt,

And in the blood of millions glut thy vengeance.

catiline.

And is the gentle, kind Aurelia then

Amongst my foes? thus in the noblest war,

That e’er was waged for freedom and for empire,

When Pompey, Cæsar, Cato, are subdued,

My worst of enemies at last are found

In my own house; I am deserted there

For an unworthy father: threatened too.

aurelia.

I threaten guilt, and tremble for—a husband:

Even in my rage thou seest my tenderness;

Abuse it not, it is my only weakness:

But I would have thee fear—

Edition: current; Page: [259]

catiline.

That word, Aurelia,

Was never made for Catiline—but hear me:

I love thee; yet presume not on thy power,

Nor think I e’er will sacrifice my friends,

My noble cause, my interest, and my fame,

Glory and empire: no, it is enough

If I forgive and pity thee, but know—

aurelia.

The crown thy pride looks up to I despise:

I should behold it as the shameful mark

Of infamy: thou showest thy love for me

By pity and forgiveness; and I mine,

By holding back, if possible, thy hand

From guilt and error—therefore will I go—

SCENE III.

catiline, cethegus, lentulus-sura, aurelia, etc.

lentulus-sura.

We are discovered, lost, undone; our friends

Betrayed, our plots unravelled all; Præneste

Not yielded to us; Nonnius is in Rome;

One of our spies is seized, and has confessed;

Nonnius in open senate will accuse

His son-in-law; he’s gone to Cicero,

Who knows too much already.

aurelia.

Now behold

The fruits of guilt, and all thy great designs,

Thy boasted fortunes, empire, and the throne,

Which I despised: are thy eyes opened yet?

Edition: current; Page: [260]

catiline.

[After a long pause.

This is a blow I thought not of; but say,

Wilt thou betray me?

aurelia.

’Tis what thou deservest:

My country claims, and heaven demands it of me;

But I’ll do more, I’ll save both Rome and thee;

And though I have not all thy rage, may boast

Some of thy courage; love will make me brave:

Long since I saw thy danger, Catiline:

’Tis come, and now I will partake it with thee;

I’ll see my father, and obtain thy life,

Or lose my own; I know he is forgiving,

Gentle, and mild: I know he loves Aurelia,

And will not urge too far a foe like thee,

Desperate and brave; I’ll talk to Cicero

Who fears, and to the senate who adores thee;

They will be glad to think thee innocent;

Those whom we fear we readily forgive:

But let sincerest penitence atone

For thy past crimes: convicted guilt by that,

And that alone, can hope for pardon; though

I know it hurts thy pride, it must be done:

At least I hope I shall procure thee time,

Or to quit Rome, or to defend thyself:

I’ll not reproach thee; even when most guilty

I loved, and in misfortune will not leave thee;

But rather die to save thy life and glory.

Farewell; let Catiline learn henceforth to trust me;

I have deserved it.

catiline.

Sad alternative;

It is most dreadful—but I yield to thee:

Edition: current; Page: [261]

Remember that a husband’s plea is stronger,

Much stronger than a father’s: if I err,

The crime is thine.

aurelia.

I’ll take it all upon me;

Nay, even thy hatred, if it must be so;

I act for thee, and I’m satisfied.

Daughter, and wife, and Roman, every duty

Shall be performed; remember thine, and keep

Thy heart as pure and spotless as Aurelia’s.

SCENE IV.

catiline, cethegus, lentulus-sura, freedmen.

lentulus-sura.

Is this the bold and fearless Catiline,

Or Nonnius’ timid son; a woman’s slave;

Appalled by phantoms? how thy great soul shrunk

Soon as Aurelia spoke!

cethegus.

It cannot be;

Catiline will never change; his noble soul

By opposition grows but more resolved:

Præneste lost, the senate our accusers,

We may be conquerors still, and make them tremble

Whilst they condemn us; we have noble friends,

And will deserve them.

lentulus-sura.

Ere the signal’s given

We may be seized; thou knowest at dead of night,

Just as the senate part, we had agreed

Edition: current; Page: [262]

To execute our purpose: what, my friends,

Must be resolved on?

cethegus.

[To Catiline.

Catiline, thou art silent,

And tremblest too.

catiline.

I tremble at the blow

Which I shall strike; my fate demands it of me.

lentulus-sura.

I’ve no dependence on Aurelia: all

That we can hope for is to sell our lives

As dearly as we can.

catiline.

I count the moments,

And weigh each circumstance; Aurelia’s tears

And flattery will a while suspend our fate;

Cicero on other business is detained,

And all is safe; let me have arms and men,

No matter who they are, or slaves or free,

Assassins, robbers, if they will but fight,

We’ll have them: thou brave Septimus, and thou

My dearest Martian, whose approved zeal

I shall depend on, must observe Aurelia;

And Nonnius; when they’re parted, talk to him

About his daughter; tell him of her danger,

Draw him by artful means to the dark path

That leads to the Tiber, seize the lucky moment,

And hurl him—ha! who’s this?

Edition: current; Page: [263]

SCENE V.

cicero, catiline, cethegus, etc.

cicero.

Audacious traitor,

Where art thou going? speak, Cethegus, who

Assembled you?

catiline.

We’ll tell thee in the senate.

cethegus.

There we shall see if thou art authorized

Thus to pursue us.

lentulus-sura.

Or what right

The son of Tullius has to question us.

cicero.

At least I have a right to ask of these,

Who brought them here: these are not like yourselves,

Of senatorial rank; away with them.

To prison.

catiline.

Darest thou thus on mere suspicion

Confine a Roman; where’s our liberty?

cicero.

They are of thy council, that’s sufficient cause;

Tremble, thyself; lictors, obey.

[The lictors carry off Septimus and Martian.

Edition: current; Page: [264]

catiline.

’Tis well:

Go on, proud consul, and abuse thy power,

The time will come when thou shalt answer for it.

cicero.

Instant I will examine them, hereafter

Thus may I treat their masters; Nonnius knows

All thy designs, Præneste’s mine, and Rome

Prepared for her defence; we soon shall see

Which most prevails, or Catiline’s artifice

Or Cicero’s vigilance: I do not preach

Repentance and forgiveness to thee; no,

I talk of punishment, thou mayest expect it:

Come to the senate; follow if thou darest.

SCENE VI.

catiline, cethegus, lentulus-sura.

cethegus.

Must we at last then bend to Cicero,

And own his hated power?

catiline.

To the last hour

I will defy him: still his curious soul

Pries into all, but can discover nothing:

Our friends will only lead him more astray,

By holding out false lights that will misguide

His wandering footsteps: in that fatal scroll

Cæsar’s accused; the senate is divided,

And Manlius with his army’s at the gate:

You think that all is lost, but follow me.

And mark the event; we shall be conquerors still.

Edition: current; Page: [265]

lentulus-sura.

Nonnius, I fear, will make it all too plain.

catiline.

But he and Cicero shall never meet;

Depend on that; away, address the senate

With confidence, and leave the rest to me:

But whither am I going?

cethegus.

Ha!

catiline.

Aurelia!

O gods! what shall I do with that proud heart?

Remove her from me: if I see my wife,

Bold as I am, I shall relapse: away.

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Scene represents the place prepared for the reception of the Senate, with part of the gallery leading from Aurelia’s palace to the temple of Tellus; a double row of benches in a circular form, with a raised seat for Cicero in the middle of it.

cethegus, lentulus-sura.

lentulus-sura.

These reverend fathers are exceeding slow,

I thought ere this they would have met; perhaps

Uncertain yet, and trembling for their fate,

They know not how to act.

Edition: current; Page: [266]

cethegus.

The oracle

Of Rome, (for so he deems himself,) engaged

In a continued round of toil, is busied

In questioning his prisoner Septimus,

Who will perplex him more; ’tis that retards

Their meeting.

lentulus-sura.

Would to heaven that we already

Had taken up arms! I own I dread the senate.

That reverence and attachment to the state,

That sacred name of country, which awakes

The sense of honor in each patriot breast;

I like it not.

cethegus.

’Tis nothing but a name,

A word without a meaning; in the days

Of our forefathers men respected it.

Save a few stubborn stoics, none retain

The memory of it; Cicero has raised

Suspicions only; Cato’s credit’s lost;

Cæsar is for us, what have we to fear?

Defend yourselves, and Rome will be your own.

lentulus-sura.

But what if Catiline, by an artful wife

Seduced, at last should leave us; we have all

Our weaknesses, and well thou knowest Aurelia

Can lead him as she lists; he loves, esteems,

And may be ruled by her.

cethegus.

His love will yield

To his ambition.

Edition: current; Page: [267]

lentulus-sura.

Thou beheldest him tremble.

In short, my friend, when tender ties like these—

cethegus.

[Taking him aside.

Cato approaches, let us listen to him.

[Lentulus-Sura and Cethegus sit down at one corner of the Senate-house.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Several English Gentlemen frequenting the Coffee-house, Servants, Messengers, &c.

SCENE LONDON.

Voltaire dashed off this comedy in eight days, to ridicule Fréron, who had unfavorably criticised Candide. It was first published as by Hume, or Home, author of the tragedy “Douglas.”

Edition: current; Page: [5]

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The scene represents a coffee-house, with apartments on the same floor on each side communicating with it.

wasp.

[At one corner of the room reading the papers. Coffee, pen and ink, etc., on the table before him.]

A plague on this vile news! here are places and pensions given to above twenty people, and nothing for me! a present of a hundred guineas to a subaltern for doing his duty! a great merit indeed! so much to the inventor of a machine to lessen the number of hands; so much to a pilot; so much settled on men of letters, but nothing for me! here’s another pension, and another—but the deuce a farthing for Wasp [he throws down the paper and walks about] and yet I have done the state some service; I have written more than any one man in England; I have raised the price of paper; and yet nothing is done for me: but I will be revenged on all those whom the world calls men of merit: I have got something already by speaking ill of others; and if I can but contrive to do them a real mischief, my fortune is made. I have praised fools, and calumniated every good quality and perfection of human nature, and yet can scarce live by it: in short, to be a great man, you must not be content with slander and destruction, but endeavor to be Edition: current; Page: [6] really hurtful. [To the master of the coffee-house.] Good morrow to you, Mr. Fabrice. Well, Mr. Fabrice, everybody’s affairs, I find, go well but mine; it is intolerable.

fabrice.

Indeed, indeed, Mr. Wasp, you make yourself a great many enemies.

wasp.

I believe I excite a little envy.

fabrice.

On my soul I believe not; but rather a passion of a very different kind: to be free, for I have really a friendship for you, I am extremely concerned to hear people talk of you as they do: how do you contrive to be so universally hated?

wasp.

It is because I have merit, Mr. Fabrice.

fabrice.

That may possibly be; but you are the only person who ever told me so: they say you are a very ignorant fellow: but that is nothing; they say, moreover, that you are ill-natured and malicious; that gives me concern, as it must every honest man.

wasp.

I assure you I have a good and tender heart. I do indeed now and then speak a little freely of the men; but for the women, Mr. Fabrice, I love them all, provided they are handsome. As a proof of it, I must absolutely insist on your introducing me to your amiable lodger, whom I have never yet been able to converse with.

Edition: current; Page: [7]

fabrice.

Upon honor, Mr. Wasp, that young lady will never do for you; for she never praises herself, or speaks ill of anybody else.

wasp.

She speaks ill of nobody, because, I suppose, she knows nobody: are you not in love with her, Fabrice?

fabrice.

Not I indeed, sir; she has something in her air so noble, that I dare not think of it—besides, her virtue—

wasp.

[Laughing.

Ha! ha! ha! her virtue indeed!

fabrice.

Why so merry, sir? think you there is no such thing as virtue?—but I hear a coach at the door, and yonder is a livery servant with a portmanteau in his hand; some lord coming to lodge with me, perhaps.

wasp.

Be sure, my dear friend, you recommend me to him as soon as possible.

SCENE II.

lord montross, fabrice, wasp.

montross.

You, sir, I suppose, are Mr. Fabrice.

Edition: current; Page: [8]

fabrice.

At your service, sir.

montross.

I shall stay here only a few days. (Protect me, heaven, unhappy as I am!) I am recommended to you, sir, as a worthy honest man.

fabrice.

So, sir, we ought all to be. You will here, sir, I believe, meet with all the conveniences of life; a tolerably good apartment, and my own table, if you choose to do me the honor to dine at it, and the amusement of coffee-house conversation.

montross.

Have you many boarders with you at present?

fabrice.

Only one young lady, sir, very handsome and extremely virtuous.

wasp.

O mighty virtuous, ha! ha!

fabrice.

Who lives quite retired.

montross.

Beauty and youth are not for me. Let me have an apartment, sir, if possible, entirely to myself. (What do I feel!) Have you any remarkable news in London?

fabrice.

This gentleman, sir, can inform you: he talks and writes more than any one man in England, and is extremely useful to foreigners.

Edition: current; Page: [9]

montross.

[Walking about.

I have other business.

fabrice.

I’ll step out, sir, and get things ready for you.

[Exit.

wasp.

[Aside.

This gentleman, I suppose, is just arrived in England: he must be some great man, for he seems to care for nobody. [Turning to Montross.] Permit me, my lord, to present to your lordship my respects; my pen and self, my lord, are at your lordship’s service.

montross.

I am no lord, sir: to boast of a title, if we have one, is the part of a fool; and to assume one when we have no right, that of a knave. I am what I am; but pray, sir, what may be your employment in this house?

wasp.

I don’t belong to the house, sir; but I spend most of my time in the coffee-room; write news, politics, and so forth, and am always ready to do an honest gentleman service. If you have any friend you want to have praised, or any enemy to be abused; any author you want to protect or to decry; ’tis but one guinea per paragraph: if you are desirous of cultivating any acquaintance for profit or pleasure, sir, I am your man.

montross.

And have you no other business, friend?

Edition: current; Page: [10]

wasp.

O sir, it is a very good one, I assure you.

montross.

And have you never been shown in public with a pretty iron collar about your neck?

wasp.

This fellow has no notion of literature.

SCENE III.

wasp.

[Sitting down to the table] several people walking about the coffee-house; Montross comes forward.

montross.

Will my misfortunes never have an end? proscribed, banished, condemned to lose my head in Scotland; in my dear native country: I have lost my honors, my wife, my son, my whole family; except one unhappy daughter, like myself a miserable wanderer, perhaps dishonored; and must I die without taking revenge on Murray’s barbarous family? I am razed out of the book of life; I am no more; even my name is wrested from me by that cruel decree: I am but a poor departed ghost, that hovers round its tomb.

[One of the gentlemen in the coffee-house slapping Wasp on the shoulder.

Well! you saw the new piece yesterday, it met with great applause; the author is a young fellow of merit, but has no fortune, the public ought to encourage him.

Edition: current; Page: [11]

another.

Rot the new piece; public affairs are strangely carried on; stocks rise; the nation’s rich, and I’m ruined, absolutely undone.

wasp.

[Writing.

The piece is good for nothing; the author’s a fool, and so are all those that support him: public affairs are in a wretched condition: the nation’s ruined: I shall prove it in my pamphlet.

another gentleman.

Your pamphlet’s nonsense: philosophy is the most dangerous thing in the world; it was that which lost us the island of Minorca.

montross.

[At a distance from them.

Lord Murray’s son shall pay dearly for it. O that before I die I could avenge the father’s injuries in the son’s blood!

a gentleman.

I thought the comedy last night was an excellent one.

wasp.

Detestable: our taste grows worse and worse.

another gentleman.

Not so bad as your criticisms.

another.

Philosophers sink the public funds: we must send another ambassador to Porte.

Edition: current; Page: [12]

wasp.

We should always hiss a successful piece, for fear anything good should appear.

[Four of them talk at once.

first gentleman.

If there was nothing good, you would lose all the pleasure of satirizing it: now I think the fifth act has great beauties.

second gentleman.

I can’t sell any of my goods.

third gentleman.

I am in pain for Jamaica this year: depend on’t, these philosophers will make us lose it.

wasp.

The fourth and fifth acts are both contemptible.

montross.

What a riot is here.

first gentleman.

It is impossible the government can exist as it is.

second gentleman.

If the price of Barbadoes water is not lowered, the nation’s undone.

montross.

How happens it, that in every country when men meet they all talk together, though they are certain of not being heard or attended to!

enter fabrice.

[A napkin in his hand.

Dinner’s on the table, gentlemen; but pray, let us have no disputes there, if you mean to dine with Edition: current; Page: [13] me any more. Sir, [Turning to Montross.] shall we have the honor of your company?

montross.

What, with this tribe? no, friend, let me have something in my own room. Hark’ee, sir, [Whispering to him.] Is my Lord Falbridge in London?

fabrice.

No, sir, but I believe he will be here soon.

montross.

Does he come to your house sometimes? I think I have heard so.

fabrice.

He has done me that honor.—

montross.

Very well. Good morrow to you.—How hateful is life to me!

[Exit.

fabrice.

This man seems lost in grief and thought; I should not be surprised to hear he had made away with himself; ’twould concern me, for he has the appearance of a worthy gentleman.

’Tis a fine thing for you to pretend to make love to a woman of her condition.

wasp.

Pray what is her condition?

polly.

A respectable one, I assure you, sir. I should think a servant was good enough for you.

wasp.

That is to say, if I were to court you, you would be thankful.

polly.

Not I, indeed.

wasp.

And what, pray, is the reason why your mistress positively refuses to see me, and her waiting-maid treats me so contemptuously?

polly.

We have three reasons for it. First, you are a wit; secondly, you are very tiresome; and thirdly, you are a wicked fellow.

wasp.

And what right has your mistress, pray, who is kept here on charity, to despise me?

polly.

Upon charity? who told you so, sir? my mistress, sir, is very rich: if she is not expensive, it is because she hates pomp: she is plainly clad, out of modesty, and eats little, because temperance is prescribed to her: in short, sir, you are very impertinent.

Edition: current; Page: [16]

wasp.

Don’t let her give herself so many airs; we know her conduct, her birth, and her adventures.

polly.

You, sir, who told them you? what do you know?

wasp.

O, I have correspondents in every part of the world.

polly.

[Aside.

O heaven! this man will ruin us.

[Turning to him.

Mr. Wasp, my dear Mr. Wasp, if you know anything, don’t betray us.

wasp.

O ho! there is something then, and now I am dear Mr. Wasp: well, well, I shall say nothing, but you must—

polly.

What?

wasp.

You must love me.

polly.

Fie, fie, sir, that’s impossible.

wasp.

Either love or fear me. You know there is something—

polly.

There is nothing, sir, but that my mistress is as respectable as you are hateful. We are truly easy. We fear nothing, and only laugh at you.

Edition: current; Page: [17]

wasp.

They are very easy: from that I conclude they are almost starved: they fear nothing, that is to say, they are afraid of being discovered—I shall get to the bottom of it by and by, or—I shall not. I’ll be revenged on them for their insolence. Despise me!

SCENE V.

Miss Lindon [Coming out of her chamber dressed very plainly.

miss lindon, polly.

miss lindon.

O my dear Polly, you have been with that vile fellow, Wasp; he always makes me uneasy; a destestable character, whose pen, words, and actions are all equally abominable: they tell me he works himself into families to bring in misery where there is none, and to increase it where it is: I had left this house because he frequents it, long since, but for the honesty and good heart of our landlord.

polly.

He absolutely insisted on seeing you, and I would not let him.

miss lindon.

To see me! where is my Lord Murray, he has not been here these two days!

polly.

True, madam, but because he does not come, are we never to dine?

Edition: current; Page: [18]

miss lindon.

Remember, Polly, to conceal my misery from him, and from all the world: I am content to live on bread and water: poverty is not intolerable, but contempt is: I am satisfied to be in want, but I would not have it known I am so.

polly.

Alas! my dear mistress, whoever looks at me will easily perceive it: with you it is a different thing; your nobleness of soul supports you, you seem to rejoice in calamities, and only look the handsomer for it: but I grow thinner and thinner, you may see me fall away every minute; I am so altered within this last year that I scarcely know myself.

miss lindon.

We must not part with our courage nor our hopes: I can support my own poverty, but yours indeed affects me. My dear girl, let the labor of my hands relieve you, we will have no obligations to anybody. Go and sell this embroidery which I have done lately. I think I succeed pretty well in this kind of work. You have assisted me, and in return my hands shall feed and clothe you: It is noble to owe our subsistence to nothing but our virtue.

polly.

Let me kiss, let me bathe with my tears the dear hands that have labored in my service O! I had rather die with my dear mistress in poverty, than be servant to a queen. Would I could administer some comfort to you!

miss lindon.

Alas! Lord Murray is not come: he whom I ought to hate, the son of him who was the author of Edition: current; Page: [19] all my misfortunes: alas! the name of Murray will be forever fatal to me: if he comes, as he certainly will, let him not know my country, my condition, or my misfortunes.

polly.

Do you know, that villain, Wasp, pretends to be well acquainted with him?

miss lindon.

How is it possible he should know anything of him, when even you are scarcely acquainted with him? Nobody writes to me, I am locked up in my chamber as closely as if I were in my grave: he only pretends to know something in order to make himself necessary: take care he does not so much as find out the place of my birth. You know, my dear Polly, I am an unfortunate woman whose father was banished in the late troubles, and whose family is ruined: my father is wandering from desert to desert in Scotland. I should have left London to join him in his misfortunes, but that I have still some hopes in Lord Falbridge; he was my father’s friend: our true friends never desert us. He has returned from Spain, and is now at Windsor: I wait but to see him: but alas! Murray comes not. I have opened my heart to thee, remember the most fatal blow thou canst give to it would be the disclosure of my condition.

polly.

To whom should I disclose it; I never go from you; besides that, the world is very indifferent about the poor and unfortunate.

miss lindon.

The world is indifferent, Polly, in this respect; Edition: current; Page: [20] but still it is always inquisitive, and loves to tear open the wounds of the wretched: besides that, the men assume a right over our sex when they are unhappy, and abuse their power. I would make even my miseries respectable: but alas! Lord Murray will not come.

SCENE VI.

miss lindon, polly, fabrice.

fabrice.

Forgive me, madam, I am not acquainted with your name or quality; but I have, I know not why, the greatest respect for you. I have left the company below to wait on you, and know your commands.

miss lindon.

The regard which you express for me, my dear sir, deserves my most grateful acknowledgments: but what are your commands with me?

fabrice.

I came, madam, only to know yours: you had no dinner yesterday.

miss lindon.

I was sick, sir, and could not eat.

fabrice.

You are worse than sick, madam, you are melancholy: you will pardon me, but I cannot help thinking your fortune is not equal to your person and appearance.

Edition: current; Page: [21]

miss lindon.

Why should you think so? I never complained of my fortune.

fabrice.

Notwithstanding that, madam, I am sure it is not what you could wish it were.

miss lindon.

What say you?

fabrice.

I say, madam, that the world you seem to shun, admires and pities you. I am but a plain man, madam, but I can see all your merit as well as the finest courtier. Let me entreat you, my dear lady, to take a little refreshment: there is above stairs an elderly gentleman who would be glad to eat with you.

miss lindon.

What, sit down to table with a stranger!

fabrice.

The gentleman, I am sure, would be agreeable to you: you seem afflicted, and so does he. The communication of your grief might, perhaps, give mutual consolation.

miss lindon.

I cannot, will not, see anybody.

fabrice.

At least, madam, permit my wife to pay her respects to you, and keep you company: permit her—

miss lindon.

I return you thanks, sir, but I want nothing.

Edition: current; Page: [22]

fabrice.

You will pardon me, madam, but I cannot think you want nothing, when you stand in need even of common necessaries.

miss lindon.

Who could make you believe so? indeed, sir, you are imposed upon.

fabrice.

You will forgive me, madam.

miss lindon.

O Polly, ’tis two o’clock, and Lord Murray not come yet!

fabrice.

That lord you speak of, madam, is one of the best of men; you never received him here but before company. Why would not you permit me to furnish out a little repast for you both? he is, perhaps, a relative of yours.

miss lindon.

My dear sir, you are mistaken.

fabrice.

[Pulling Polly by the sleeve.

Go, child, there is a good dinner for you in the next room. This woman is incomprehensible: but who is yonder lady in the coffee-room with a masculine air? I should have taken her for a man: how wildly she looks!

And my lord not come! then I am undone. Why am I still condemned to live?

[She goes in.

SCENE VII.

lady alton.

[Walking across the stage in a violent passion, and taking Fabrice by the arm.

Follow me, sir, I must talk with you.

fabrice.

With me, madam?

lady alton.

With you, wretch.

fabrice.

What a devil of a woman!

End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

lady alton, fabrice.

lady alton.

I don’t believe a word you say, Mr. Coffeeman; you will absolutely drive me out of my senses.

fabrice.

Then pray, madam, get into them again.

Edition: current; Page: [24]

lady alton.

You have the impudence to affirm to me, that this fortune-hunter here is a woman of honor, though she has received visits from a nobleman. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

fabrice.

Why so, madam? when my lord came, he never came in privately; she received him publicly, the doors of her apartment were open, and my wife present. You may despise my condition, madam, but you should respect my honesty; and as to the lady you are pleased to call a fortune-hunter, if you knew her, you would esteem her.

lady alton.

Leave me, sir, you grow impertinent.

fabrice.

What a woman!

lady alton.

[Goes to Miss Lindon’s door, and knocks rudely.

Open the door.

SCENE II.

miss lindon, lady alton.

miss lindon.

Who knocks so? what do you want, madam?

lady alton.

Answer me, madam. Does not Lord Murray come here sometimes?

Edition: current; Page: [25]

miss lindon.

What’s that to you? what right have you to ask me? am I a criminal, and you my judge?

lady alton.

I am your accuser. If my lord still visits you, if you encourage that wretch’s passion, tremble: renounce him, or you are undone.

miss lindon.

If I had a passion for him, your menaces, madam, would but increase it.

lady alton.

I see you love him; that the perfidious villain has seduced you; he has deceived you, and you brave me: but know, there is no vengeance which I am not capable of executing.

miss lindon.

Then, madam, know, I do love him.

lady alton.

Before I revenge myself I will astonish you. There, know the traitor, look at these letters he wrote to me: there is his picture too which he gave me; but let me have it back, or—

miss lindon.

[Giving her back the picture.

What have I seen? unhappy woman! madam—

lady alton.

Well.

miss lindon.

I no longer love him.

Edition: current; Page: [26]

lady alton.

Keep your resolution and your promise; know, he is inconstant, cruel, proud, the worst of characters.

miss lindon.

Stop, madam; if you continue to speak ill of him, I may relapse, and love him again. You are come here on purpose to take away my wretched life: that, madam, will easily be done.—Polly, ’tis all over; come and assist me to conceal this last and worst of all my miseries.

polly.

What is the matter, my dear mistress, where is your courage?

miss lindon.

Against misfortune, injustice, and poverty, there are arms that will defend a noble heart; but there is an arrow that always must be fatal.

[They go out.

SCENE III.

lady alton, wasp.

lady alton.

To be betrayed, abandoned for this worthless little wretch.

[To Wasp.

You, news-writer, have you done what I ordered you? have you employed your engines of intelligence, and found out who this insolent creature is that makes me so completely miserable?

Edition: current; Page: [27]

wasp.

I have fulfilled your ladyship’s commands, and have discovered that she is a Scotchwoman, and hides herself from the world.

lady alton.

Prodigious news indeed!

wasp.

I can find out nothing else at present.

lady alton.

What service then have you been of?

wasp.

When we discover a little, we add a little; and one little joined to another, makes a great deal. There’s a hypothesis for you.

lady alton.

How, pedant, a hypothesis!

wasp.

Yes, I suppose she is an enemy to the government.

lady alton.

Certainly, nothing can be worse inclined; for she has robbed me of my lover.

wasp.

You plainly see, therefore, that in troublesome times, a Scotchwoman, who conceals herself, must be an enemy to the state.

lady alton.

I can’t say I see it altogether so clearly, but I heartily wish it were so.

Edition: current; Page: [28]

wasp.

I would not lay a wager about it, but I’d swear to it.

lady alton.

And would you venture to affirm this before people of consequence?

wasp.

I have the honor of being related to many persons of the first fashion. I am intimate with the mistress of a valet de chambre to the first secretary of the prime minister: I could even talk with the lackeys of your lover, Lord Murray, and tell them that the father of this young girl has sent her up to London, as a woman ill disposed. Now observe, this might have its consequences, and your rival, for her bad intentions, might be sent to the same prison where I have so often been for my writings.

lady alton.

Good, very good: violent passions must be served by people who have no scruples about them. Let the vessel go with a full sail, or let it go to the bottom. You are certainly right; a Scotchwoman who conceals herself at a time when all the people of her country are suspected, must certainly be an enemy to the state. You are no fool, as you have been represented to me. I thought you had been only a smatterer on paper, but I see you have genius. I have already done something for you; I will do a great deal more. You must let me know everything that passes here.

wasp.

Let me advise you, madam, to make use of everything you know, and of everything you do not know. Edition: current; Page: [29] Truth stands in need of some ornament: downright lies indeed may be vile things, but fiction is beautiful. What after all is truth? a conformity with our own ideas; what one says is always conformable to the idea one has whilst one is talking; therefore, properly speaking, there is no such thing as a lie.

lady alton.

You seem to be an excellent logician, I fancy you studied at St. Omer’s. But go, only tell me whatever you discover, I ask no more of you.

SCENE IV.

lady alton, fabrice.

lady alton.

This is certainly one of the vilest and most impudent scoundrels; dogs bite from an instinct of courage, and this fellow from an instinct of meanness. Methinks, now I am a little cool, his behavior makes me out of love with revenge. I could almost take my rival’s part against him. She has in her low condition a pride that pleases me; she is decent, and I am told, sensible: but she has robbed me of my lover, and that I can never pardon. [To Fabrice, whom she sees in the coffee-room.] Honest man, your servant, you are a good kind of fellow, but you have got a sad rascal in your house.

fabrice.

I have heard, madam, from many, that he is as wicked as Miss Lindon is virtuous and amiable.

lady alton.

Amiable! that wounds my heart.

Edition: current; Page: [30]

SCENE V.

fabrice, mr. freeport.

[Dressed plainly, with a large hat.

fabrice.

Heaven be praised, Mr. Freeport, I see you safe returned: how are you since your voyage to Jamaica?

freeport.

Pretty well, I thank you, Mr. Fabrice, I have been very successful, but am much fatigued. [To the waiter.] Boy, some chocolate and the papers—one finds it more difficult to amuse oneself than to get rich.

fabrice.

Will you have Wasp’s papers?

freeport.

No: what should I do with such stuff? It is no concern of mine if a spider in the corner of a wall walks over his web to suck the blood of flies. Give me the Gazette! What public news have you?

fabrice.

None at present.

freeport.

So much the better; the less news the less folly. But how go your affairs, my friend? have you a good deal of business? who lodges with you now?

fabrice.

This morning an old gentleman came who won’t see anybody.

Edition: current; Page: [31]

freeport.

He’s in the right of it: three parts of the world are good for nothing, either knaves or fools, and as for the fourth, they keep to themselves.

fabrice.

This gentleman has not so much as the curiosity to see a charming young lady who is in the same house with him.

freeport.

There he’s wrong. Who is she, pray?

fabrice.

She is something more singular even than himself: she has now been with me these four months, and has never stirred out of her apartment: she calls herself Lindon, but I believe that is not her real name.

freeport.

I make no doubt but she’s a woman of virtue, or she would not lodge with you.

fabrice.

O she is more than you can conceive; beautiful to the last degree, greatly distressed, and the best of women. Between you and me she is excessively poor, but of a high spirit and very proud.

freeport.

If that be the case she is more to blame even than your old gentleman.

fabrice.

By no means: her pride is an additional virtue. She denies herself common necessaries, and at the Edition: current; Page: [32] same time would let nobody know she does: works with her own hands to get money to pay me; never complains, but hides her tears: it is with the utmost difficulty I can persuade her to expend a little of her money, due for rent, on things she really wants; and am forced to make use of a thousand arts before she will suffer me to assist her. I always reckon what she has at half the price it cost me, and when she finds it out, there is always a quarrel between us, which indeed is the only quarrel we have ever had: in short, sir, she is a miracle of virtue, misfortune, and intrepidity: she frequently draws from me tears of tenderness and admiration.

freeport.

You are naturally tender; I am not. I admire none, though I esteem many: but I will see this woman; I am a little melancholy, and she may divert me.

fabrice.

O sir, she scarcely ever receives any visitors. There is a lord indeed who comes now and then to see her, but she will never speak to him unless before my wife. He has not been here for some time, and now she lives more retired than ever.

freeport.

I love retirement too, and hate a crowd as much as she can: I must see her, where is her apartment?

fabrice.

Yonder: even with the coffee-room.

freeport.

I’ll go in.

Edition: current; Page: [33]

fabrice.

You must not.

freeport.

I say I must: why not go into her chamber? bring in my chocolate and the papers. [Pulls out his watch.] I have not much time to lose, for I am engaged at two.

SCENE VI.

miss lindon, [frightened, Polly following her.]

freeport, fabrice.

miss lindon.

My God! who is this? sir, you are extremely rude; I think you might have shown more respect to my sex than thus to intrude on my retirement.

freeport.

You will pardon me, madam, [To Fabrice] bring me the chocolate.

fabrice.

Yes, sir, with the lady’s consent.

freeport.

[Seats himself near a table, reads the newspaper, and looks up to Miss Lindon and Polly, takes off his hat, and puts it on again.

polly.

This gentleman seems pretty familiar.

freeport.

Why won’t you sit down, madam? you see I do.

Edition: current; Page: [34]

miss lindon.

Which I think, sir, you ought not to do. I am astonished, sir: I never receive visits from strangers.

freeport.

A stranger, madam! I am very well known; my name’s Freeport, a merchant, and rich: inquire of me on ’Change.

miss lindon.

Sir, I know nobody in this country, I should be obliged to you if you would not intrude on a person to whom you are an utter stranger, and to whom as a woman you should have shown more respect.

freeport.

I don’t mean to incommode you, madam: be at your ease, as I am at mine; you see I am reading the news, take up your tapestry, or drink chocolate with me, or without me, just as you please.

polly.

This is an original!

miss lindon.

Good heaven! what a visit! and my lord not come. This whimsical fellow distracts me, and I don’t know how to get rid of him. How could Fabrice let him in! I must sit down.

[She sits down, and works, chocolate is brought in; Freeport takes a dish without offering her any; he sips, and talks by turns.

freeport

Hark’ee, madam, I hate compliments, I have heard one of the best of characters of you: you are Edition: current; Page: [35] poor and virtuous, but they tell me you are proud; that’s a fault.

polly.

And pray, sir, who told you all this?

freeport.

The master of this house, who is a very honest man, and therefore I believe him.

miss lindon.

O sir, ’tis all a fable; he has deceived you; not indeed with regard to pride, which always accompanies true modesty: nor as to virtue, which is my first duty; but with regard to that poverty of which he suspects me. Those who want nothing can never be poor.

freeport.

You don’t stick to truth, which is even a worse fault than being proud: I know better, I know you are in want of everything, and sometimes deny yourself so much as a dinner.

polly.

That’s by order of the doctor.

freeport.

Hold your tongue, hussy, do you pretend to give yourself airs too?

polly.

What an original!

freeport

In a word, whether you are proud or not, is nothing to me. I have made a voyage to Jamaica that has brought me in five thousand pounds: now, you must know, it is a law with me, and ought to be Edition: current; Page: [36] a law with every good Christian, always to give away a tenth part of what I get: it is a debt which I owe to the unfortunate. You are unhappy, though you won’t acknowledge it. There’s five hundred pounds for you: now, remember, you’re paid: let me have no curtseys, no thanks, keep the money and the secret.

[Throws down a large purse on the table.

polly.

In faith this is more original still.

miss lindon.

[Rising.

I never was so astonished in my life—alas! how everything conspires to humble me! what generosity! and yet what an affront!

freeport.

[Reading the news and drinking his chocolate.

This impertinent writer! a ridiculous fellow to talk such nonsense with an air of consequence—“The king is arrived: he makes a most noble figure, being extremely tall.” The blockhead! what signifies it whether he is tall or short? could not he have told us the plain fact?

miss lindon.

[Coming up to Freeport.

Sir—

freeport.

Well, madam—

miss lindon.

What you have done, sir, surprises me still more than what you said: but I cannot possibly accept the Edition: current; Page: [37] money, as it may not, perhaps, ever be in my power to repay it.

freeport.

Who talks of repaying it?

miss lindon.

I thank you, sir, for your goodness, from the bottom of my heart: you have my sincere acknowledgments, my admiration; I can no more.

polly.

You are more extraordinary than the gentleman himself. Surely, madam, in the condition you are in, deserted by all the world, you must have lost your senses to refuse an unexpected succor, thus offered you by one of the most generous, though whimsical and absurd men I ever met with.

freeport.

What do you mean by that, madam! whimsical and absurd!

polly.

If you won’t accept of it for your own sake, take it for mine. I have served you in your ill-fortune, and have some right to partake of the good: in short, sir, this is no time to dissemble, we are in the utmost distress; and if it had not been for our kind landlord, must have perished with cold and hunger. My mistress concealed her condition from all those who might have been of service to us: you became acquainted with it in spite of her: in spite of herself, therefore, oblige her to accept of that which heaven hath sent her by your generous hand.

miss lindon.

Dear Polly, you will ruin my honor.

Edition: current; Page: [38]

polly.

You, my dear mistress, would ruin yourself by your folly.

miss lindon.

If you love me, consider my reputation. I shall die with shame.

freeport.

[Reading.

What are these women prating about?

polly.

And if you love me, madam, don’t oblige me to perish with hunger.

miss lindon.

O Polly, what think you my lord would say, if still he loves me? could he believe me capable of such meanness? I always pretended to him that I wanted nothing; and shall I receive a present from another, from a stranger?

polly.

Your pretence was wrong, and your refusal still more so: as to my lord, he’ll say nothing about it, for he has deserted you.

miss lindon.

My dear Polly, by our sorrows I entreat you, do not let us disgrace ourselves: contrive in some way to excuse me to this strange man, who means well, though he is so rude and unpolished: tell him, when an unmarried woman accepts such presents, the world will always suspect she does it at the expense of her virtue.

Edition: current; Page: [39]

freeport.

[Reading.

What does she say?

polly.

[Coming close to him.

O sir, something mighty ridiculous; she talks of the suspicions of the world, and that an unmarried woman—

freeport.

Is she unmarried then?

polly.

Yes, sir, and I too

freeport.

So much the better. So she says that an unmarried woman—

polly.

Cannot take a present from a man—

freeport.

She does not know what she says. Why am I to be suspected of a dishonest purpose, because I do an honest action?

polly.

Do you hear him, madam?

miss lindon.

I hear, and I admire him, but am still resolved not to accept it: they would say I loved him; that villain. Wasp, would certainly report it, and I should be undone.

polly.

[To Freeport.

She is afraid, sir, you are in love with her.

Edition: current; Page: [40]

freeport.

In love with her! how can that be, when I know nothing of her? indeed, madam, you may make yourself easy on that head; and if perchance some years hence I should fall in love with you, and you with me, well and good; as you determine, I shall determine also; and if you think no more of it, I shall think no more of it; if you tell me I am disagreeable to you, you will soon be so to me; if you desire not to see me, you shall never see me again; and if you desire me to return, I will.

[Pulls out his watch.

So fare you well. I have a little business at present. Madam, your, servant.

miss lindon.

Your servant, sir, you have my esteem and my gratitude; but take your money with you, and once more spare my blushes.

freeport.

The woman’s a fool.

miss lindon.

Mr. Fabrice, Mr. Fabrice, for heaven’s sake come and assist me.

fabrice.

[Coming in a violent hurry.

What’s the matter, madam?

miss lindon.

[Giving him the purse.

Here, take this purse: the gentleman left it by mistake, give it him again, I charge you; assure him of my esteem, and remember I want no assistance from any one.

Edition: current; Page: [41]

fabrice.

[Taking the purse.

O Mr. Freeport, I know you by this generous action; but be assured this lady means to deceive you: she is really in want of this.

miss lindon.

’Tis false: and is it you, Mr. Fabrice, who would betray me?

fabrice.

I will obey you, madam.

[Aside to Freeport.

I will keep this money; it may be of service to her without her knowing it. My heart bleeds to see such virtue joined to such misfortunes.

freeport.

I feel for her too, but she is too haughty: tell her it is not right to be proud. Adieu.

SCENE VII.

miss lindon, polly.

polly.

Well, madam, you have made a fine piece of work of it; heaven graciously offered you assistance, and you resolve to perish in indigence; I too must fall a sacrifice to your virtue, a virtue which is not without its alloy of vanity: that vanity, madam, will destroy us both.

miss lindon.

Death is all I have to wish for: Lord Murray no longer loves me; he has left me these three days; Edition: current; Page: [42] he has loved my proud and cruel rival; perhaps, he loves her still. I was to blame to think of him, but ’tis a crime I shall not long be guilty of.

[She sits down to write.

polly.

She seems in despair, alas! she has but too much reason to be so; her condition is far worse than mine: a servant has always some resource, but a woman like her can have none.

miss lindon.

[Folding up her letter.

’Tis no great sacrifice. There, Polly, when I am no more, carry that letter to him—

polly.

What says my dear mistress?

miss lindon.

To him who is the cause of my death. I have recommended you to him, perhaps he may comply with my last request: go, Polly, [embracing her] and be assured, that amongst all my misfortunes, that of not being able to recompense you as you deserve, is not the least which this wretched heart has experienced.

polly.

O my dear mistress, I cannot refrain from tears, you harrow up my soul: what is your dreadful purpose? what means this letter? God forbid I should ever deliver it! [she tears the letter.] Alas! madam, why would not you open your heart to Lord Murray? perhaps your cold reserve has disgusted him.

Edition: current; Page: [43]

miss lindon.

Perhaps so, indeed: my eyes are open now, I must have offended him: but how could I disclose my condition to the son of him who ruined my father and family?

polly.

How, madam! was it my lord’s father who—

miss lindon.

Yes, it was he who persecuted my father, had him condemned to death, deprived us of our nobility, and took away everything from us: left as I am without father, mother, or fortune, I have nothing but my reputation and my fatal love. I ought to detest the son of Murray: misfortune, that still pursues me, brought me acquainted with him. I have loved him, and I ought to suffer for it.

[Fabrice’s wife, her maids, and Polly, carry off Miss Lindon into her chamber.

Edition: current; Page: [44]

miss lindon.

[As she is going out.

Why will ye bring me back to life again? let me die in peace.

SCENE VIII.

montross, fabrice.

montross.

What’s the matter, landlord?

fabrice.

That beautiful young lady, sir, I told you of, fainted away just now: but it will be over soon.

montross.

O the mere effect of vapors in young girls; they are not dangerous: what service could I be of? why call me down for this? I thought the house must have been on fire.

fabrice.

I had rather it were, than this sweet creature should be hurt. If Scotland has many such beauties as her, it must be a charming country.

montross.

Is she Scotch then?

fabrice.

So it seems; though I knew it but to-day: our news-writer tells me so, and he knows everything.

montross.

And what’s her name?

Edition: current; Page: [45]

fabrice.

She calls herself Lindon.

montross.

That’s a name I’m not acquainted with. [He walks about.] The bare mention of my country rives my heart. Was ever man treated with such cruelty and injustice as I have been? Barbarous Murray, thou art dead; but thy son survives: I will have justice or revenge. O my dearest wife, my children, my daughter! I have lost all. This sword had long since ended all my cares, did not the hopes of sweet revenge force me still to bear the detestable load of life.

fabrice.

[Returning.

Thank God! all is well again.

montross.

What sudden change has happened then?

fabrice.

O, sir, she has recovered her senses, and is pretty well; looks still pale, but always beautiful.

montross.

O it’s nothing. I must go out—I must run the hazard—I will.

[Exit.

fabrice.

This man does not trouble himself much about young ladies that faint; but if he had seen Miss Lindon, he would not be so indifferent.

End of the Second Act.

Edition: current; Page: [46]

ACT III.

SCENE I.

lady alton, andrew.

lady alton.

Yes: since I can’t see the villain at home, I’ll see him here: he’ll certainly come. This news-writer told me truth, and was in the right of it: a Scotchwoman concealed in these dangerous times! she must be in a conspiracy against the state; she shall be seized; the order is given; at least I am too sure she conspires against me: but here comes Andrew, my lord’s servant; I will know the whole of my misfortune. Andrew, you have got a letter from my lord, have not you?

andrew.

Yes, madam.

lady alton.

For me.

andrew.

No, madam.

lady alton.

How? have not you brought me several from him?

andrew.

Yes, madam: but this is not for you; ’tis for a certain person whom he is most desperately in love with.

lady alton.

Well, and was not he most desperately in love with me when he used to write to me?

Edition: current; Page: [47]

andrew.

O no, madam, he loved you calmly and coldly; ’tis quite another thing here; he neither sleeps nor eats, runs about day and night, and does nothing but talk of his dear Lindon. O there’s a great deal of difference, I assure you.

lady alton.

Perfidious wretch! but no matter: I tell you that letter is for me: ’tis without a superscription, is not it?

andrew.

Yes, madam.

lady alton.

Were not all the letters you brought me without a superscription too?

andrew.

Yes, madam; but this I know is for Miss Lindon.

lady alton.

I tell you ’tis for me, and to prove it to you, here are ten guineas for you.

andrew.

Indeed, madam, I begin to think the letter was for you; I was certainly mistaken: but if after all it is not, I hope you will not betray me; you may say you found it at Miss Lindon’s.

lady alton.

O leave that to me.

andrew.

After all, where is the harm in giving a love letter designed for one woman to another? they are all Edition: current; Page: [48] alike; and if Miss Lindon does not receive this letter, she may have twenty others. I have executed my commission, and made a pretty good hand of it too.

lady alton.

[Opens the letter, and reads.

Now for it—“My dear, amiable, and truly virtuous Miss Lindon”—that’s more than ever he said to me—“ ’tis now two days, an age to me, since I had the happiness of seeing you: but I have denied myself that pleasure with the hopes of serving you. I know what you are, and what I owe you. I will change the face of your affairs, or perish in the attempt. My friends are zealous for you. Depend on me as on the most faithful of lovers, and one who will endeavor to prove himself worthy of your affection.”

This is an absolute conspiracy; there can be no doubt of it: she is a Scotchwoman, and her family ill disposed to the government. Murray’s father commanded in Scotland: his friends, he says, are zealous; he runs about day and night: ’tis certainly a conspiracy. Thank God, I am as zealous as he, and if she does not accept my offers, she shall be seized in an hour’s time, before her vile lover comes to her assistance.

SCENE II.

lady alton, miss lindon, polly.

lady alton.

[To Polly, who is passing from her mistress’s apartment towards the coffee-room.

You, madam, go immediately and tell your mistress Edition: current; Page: [49] I must speak with her; she need not be afraid; I shall say nothing to her but what will be agreeable, and concerns her happiness: let her come immediately, immediately, do you hear? she need not be afraid, I say.

polly.

O madam, we are afraid of nothing; but your looks make me tremble.

lady alton.

I’ll see if I can’t persuade this virtuous lady to do as I would have her: I’ll make my proposals, however.

miss lindon.

[Comes in trembling, supported by Polly.

What are your commands with me, madam? are you come again only to insult me in my distress?

lady alton.

No: I come to make you happy. I know you are worth nothing; I am rich; I now make you an offer of one of my seats on the borders of Scotland, with all the lands belonging to it; go and live there, you and your family, if you have any; but you must immediately quit my lord forever, nor must he know of your retreat as long as you live.

miss lindon.

Alas! madam, he has abandoned me: be not jealous of a poor unfortunate: in vain you offer me a retreat; I shall soon find one without you, an eternal one, in a place where I need not blush at my obligations to you.

lady alton.

Rash woman, is this an answer for me?

Edition: current; Page: [50]

miss lindon.

Rashness, madam, would ill suit with my condition; firmness and intrepidity will much better become it: my birth, madam, is as good as yours; my heart, perhaps, much better; and as to my fortune, it shall not depend on any one, much less on my rival.

[Goes out.

lady alton.

[Alone.

It shall depend on me. I am sorry she reduces me to this extremity, and am ashamed to make use of this rascal, Wasp; but she obliges me to it. Faithless lover! unhappy passion! O! I am choked with rage.

SCENE III.

freeport and montross [in the coffee-room, with Fabrice’s wife, and servants putting things in order.

fabrice, lady alton.

lady alton.

[To Fabrice.

Mr. Fabrice, you see me here often; but ’tis your own fault.

fabrice.

On the contrary, madam, we could wish—

lady alton.

I am more concerned than you can be; but you shall see me again, I assure you.

[She goes out.

Edition: current; Page: [51]

fabrice.

So much the worse. What would she be at now? What a difference there is betwixt her and the beautiful patient Miss Lindon!

freeport.

True; she is, as you say, beautiful and virtuous.

fabrice.

I am sorry this gentleman never saw her; I am sure he would be greatly affected with her behavior.

montross.

[Aside.

Wretch that I am! I have other things to think of.

freeport.

I am always either on’Change or at Jamaica; but one can’t help liking now and then to see a fine woman: she is really a fine creature, a sweet behavior, a charming countenance, and has something noble in her air and demeanor.—I must see her again one day or other. ’Tis pity she’s so proud.

montross.

My landlord here informs me you behaved to her in a most generous manner.

freeport.

Who I? no. Would not you, or any man in my place, have done the same?

montross.

If I had been rich, and she had merit, I believe I might.

Edition: current; Page: [52]

freeport.

What is there in it then to be wondered at? [He takes up the papers.] Well, what news have we to-day? How’s this? Lord Falbridge dead!

montross.

Falbridge dead! the only friend I had on earth, or from whom I could expect relief? O fortune, fortune, wilt thou ever persecute me?

freeport.

Was he your friend? I am sorry for you.—“Edinburgh, April 14. Great search is being made after Lord Montross, condemned to lose his head about eleven years ago.”

montross.

Just heaven! what do I hear? What’s that, sir, Lord Montross condemned—

freeport.

Yes, sir, Lord Montross; there, sir, read it yourself.

montross.

[Looking on the paper.

’Tis so indeed. [Aside.] I must get away as fast as I can; this place is too public: sure, earth and hell conspired together never heaped so many misfortunes on one man. [To his servant.] John, let my horses be saddled, perhaps I may be going towards evening—how bad news flies!

freeport.

Bad news, why so? what signifies it whether Lord Montross is beheaded or not? everything passes away—to-day a head is cut off, to-morrow we have Edition: current; Page: [53] it in the newspapers, and next day we talk no more of it. If this Miss Lindon was not so proud, I would go and ask her how she did; she is very handsome, and a very worthy creature.

SCENE IV.

To them a King’s Messenger.

messenger.

Is your name Fabrice, sir?

fabrice.

Yes, sir, your commands with me?

messenger.

You keep a coffee-house, and let lodgings?

fabrice.

I do, sir.

messenger.

You have a young Scotch lady in your house, named Lindon?

fabrice.

I have, sir, and esteem it a great happiness.

freeport.

A most beautiful and virtuous lady; everybody tells me so.

messenger.

I come to seize her by order of the government; there’s my warrant.

fabrice.

Amazing! I shudder at the thought.

Edition: current; Page: [54]

montross.

A young Scotchwoman seized on the very day of my arrival! O my unhappy family, my country, what will become of my unfortunate daughter! she is, perhaps, the victim of my misfortunes, languishing in poverty and a prison: why was she ever born?

freeport.

I never heard of young girls being seized by order of the government: I am afraid, Mr. Messenger, you are a rascal.

fabrice.

If she is a fortune-hunter, as Wasp said, it will ruin my house; I am undone: this court lady had some reasons I see plainly—and yet she must be good and virtuous.

messenger.

Let’s have none of your reasons, sir, to prison, or give bail, that’s the rule.

fabrice.

I’ll give you bail, myself, my house, my goods, my person.

messenger.

Your person’s nothing; the house, perhaps, not your own—your goods, where are they? I must have money.

fabrice.

Good Mr. Freeport, shall I give him the five hundred pounds which she so nobly refused, and which are still in my possession?

freeport.

Ay, ay, I’ll give five hundred, a thousand, two thousand; I’ll be answerable for it, my name’s Freeport. Edition: current; Page: [55] I believe the girl’s strictly virtuous; but she should not be so proud.

messenger.

Come, sir, give us your bond.

freeport.

With all my heart.

fabrice.

’Tis not every one employs their money thus.

freeport.

To spend it in doing good is putting it out to the best interest.

[Freeport and the Messenger retire to the corner of the coffee-room to count out the money.

SCENE V.

montross, fabrice.

fabrice.

You are astonished, sir, at Mr. Freeport; but ’tis his constant practice: happy are those whom he takes a fancy to! he is no complimenter, but does a man a service in less time than others spend in making protestations about it.

montross.

[Aside.

There are still in the world some noble souls—what will become of me?

fabrice.

We must take care not to let the poor young lady know anything of the danger she has been in.

Edition: current; Page: [56]

montross.

I must be gone this night.

fabrice.

One should never tell people of their danger till it is past.

montross.

The only friend I had in London is dead: what should I do here?

fabrice.

We should make her faint away a second time.

SCENE VI.

montross.

A young Scotchwoman is seized, a person who lives retired, and is suspected by the government. I don’t know why, but this adventure throws me into deep reflections. Everything conspires to awaken the memory of my sorrows, my afflictions, my misfortunes, and my resentment.

SCENE VII.

montross.

[Seeing Polly crossing the stage.

One word with you, madam, are you that pretty amiable young lady, born in Scotland, who—

polly.

Yes, sir—I, I am tolerably young, and a Scotchwoman; and as to pretty they say I am not amiss.

Edition: current; Page: [57]

montross.

Have you any news from your own country?

polly.

No, sir, I have left it a long time.

montross.

And what are your relations, pray?

polly.

My father was an excellent baker, as I have heard, and my mother waiting-maid to a woman of quality.

montross.

O, now I understand you. You, I suppose, are servant to that young lady I have heard so much of. I was mistaken.

polly.

O sir, you do me too much honor.

montross.

You know who your mistress is, I suppose?

polly.

Yes, sir, the sweetest and most amiable of her sex, and one too who has the most fortitude in affliction.

montross.

She is in distress then?

polly.

Yes, sir, and so am I: but I had rather serve her in affliction than be ever so happy.

montross.

But don’t you know her family?

Edition: current; Page: [58]

polly.

My mistress, sir, desires to remain unknown: she has no family: sir, why do you ask me these questions?

montross.

To remain unknown! say you? O heaven, if I could at last—but ’tis a vain imagination. Tell me, pray, how old is your mistress?

polly.

One may safely tell her age. She is just eighteen.

montross.

Eighteen! the very age of my dear Montross, my lovely infant, the only remaining hope of my unhappy family—eighteen sayest thou?

polly.

Yes, sir, and I am but two and twenty, there’s no great difference between us. I see no reason why you should make so many reflections on her age.

montross.

Eighteen, and born in my country, desires to remain unknown! I cannot contain myself—by your permission I must see and talk to her immediately.

polly.

Telling him of a girl of eighteen has turned this old gentleman’s brain.—You can’t possibly see her at present, sir, she’s in the greatest distress.

montross.

For that very reason I must see her.

Edition: current; Page: [59]

polly.

O, sir, fresh griefs and calamities have torn her heart, and deprived her of her senses. She is not one of those I assure you, sire, who faint away for nothing; she is but just now come to herself, and the little rest she now enjoys is mixed with grief and bitterness. Have pity, sir, on her condition.

montross.

All you say but increases my desire. I am her countryman, and partake of her afflictions, perhaps I may be able to lessen them; permit me, I beg you, before I leave this place, to have an interview with her.

polly.

You affect me deeply, sir; stay here a few minutes. It is impossible a young lady, who has just fainted away, should be able to receive visits immediately. I’ll go to her, and come back to you soon.

SCENE VIII.

montross, fabrice.

fabrice.

[Pulling him by the sleeve.

Sir, is there nobody near us?

montross.

With what impatience shall I wait for her return!

fabrice.

Can nobody hear us?

Edition: current; Page: [60]

montross.

I can never support this anxiety.

fabrice.

They are in search of you, sir,—

montross.

Who, where, what?

fabrice.

I say, sir, they are in search of you; I cannot help interesting myself in the safety of those who lodge in my house. I don’t know who you are, sir, but I have been asked a thousand questions about you. They have surrounded the house, passing, and repassing, getting all the information they can. In short I shall not be surprised if in a little time they should pay you the same compliment as they did the young lady, who, it seems, is of the same country.

montross.

I must speak with her before I go.

fabrice.

Take my advice, sir, and get away as fast as you can; our friend, Freeport, perhaps might not be in the humor to do as much for you as for a girl of eighteen.

montross.

Pardon me, but I know not where I am; I scarce heard you—what must I do, or where can I go? my dear sir, I cannot go without seeing her: let me talk to you a little in private: I must beg you some how or other to let me have an opportunity of seeing this young lady.

Edition: current; Page: [61]

fabrice.

I told you before, you would want to see her. I assure you nothing can be more beautiful, more virtuous, or more agreeable.

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

fabrice, wasp.

[At a table in the coffee-room.

freeport

[Smoking a pipe.

fabrice.

I must be so free as to tell you, Mr. Wasp, if I may believe all that is said of you, you would do me a favor by never coming to my house again.

freeport.

All that is said is generally false: what fly has stung you, Mr. Fabrice?

fabrice.

You come, and write your papers here, Mr. Wasp; and my coffee-house will be looked on as a poison shop.

freeport.

[To Fabrice.

This fellow seems to deserve what you say.

fabrice.

[To Wasp.

They say you speak ill of all mankind.

freeport.

Of all mankind! that’s too much indeed.

Edition: current; Page: [62]

fabrice.

They begin even to say you are an informer, and a scoundrel, but I am loth to believe them.

freeport.

[To Wasp.

Do you hear, sir? this is past raillery.

wasp.

I am an illustrious writer, sir, a man of taste.

fabrice.

Taste or no taste, sir, I say you have done me an injury.

wasp.

So far from it, sir, that I have helped off your coffee, made it fashionable to come to your house, ’tis my reputation that has brought you custom.

fabrice.

A fine reputation indeed! that of a spy, a bad author, and a worse man!

wasp.

Stop, Mr. Fabrice, if you please. You may attack my morals, but my works—I will never suffer that.

fabrice.

Your writings, sir, are not worth my consideration; but you are suspected of a design against the amiable Miss Lindon.

freeport.

If I thought so, I would drown the dog with my own hands.

Edition: current; Page: [63]

fabrice.

’Tis said, you accused her of being Scotch, and the honest gentleman too who lives above stairs.

wasp.

Well, and suppose I had, what harm is there in being of any particular country?

fabrice.

’Tis moreover reported that you have had several conferences with the agents of a certain choleric lady who comes here, and with the servants of a noble lord, who used to frequent this house: that you tell tales, and blow up quarrels.

freeport.

[To Wasp.

Are you really such a rogue? then shall I detest you.

fabrice.

O thank God! here comes my lord, if I am not mistaken.

freeport.

A lord, is it? then your humble servant, I hate a lord, as much as I do a bad writer.

fabrice.

He’s not like other lords, I assure you.

freeport.

Like other lords or not, ’tis no matter. I never love to be disturbed, so fare you well. I don’t know how it is, my friend, but I am always thinking of this young Scotchwoman—I’ll come back presently—immediately. I want to talk seriously to her—your servant. This Scotchwoman is handsome, and Edition: current; Page: [64] a good creature.—Adieu—[returning] tell her, I intend to serve her greatly.

SCENE II.

lord murray.

[Pensive and in great agitation.

wasp.

[Bowing to him, of which he takes no notice.

fabrice.

[At a distance from him.

lord murray.

[To Fabrice.

I’m glad to see you, friend: how is that charming girl you have the pleasure to boast of as your lodger here?

fabrice.

She has been very ill, sir, since she saw you: but I’m sure she will be better now.

lord murray.

Great God, thou protector of innocence, I implore thee for her; O deign to make me an instrument in doing justice to virtue, and sheltering the unfortunate from oppression! Thanks to thy goodness, and my own endeavors, I have hopes of success. Hark’ee, friend, I would talk a little with that man.

[Pointing to Wasp.

wasp.

[To Fabrice.

You see, sir, you were mistaken, and I have some credit still at court.

Edition: current; Page: [65]

fabrice.

[Going out.

That’s not quite so clear.

lord murray.

[To Wasp.

Well, my friend—

wasp.

[Bowing.

Permit me, my lord, to dedicate a volume to your lordship—

lord murray.

No, sir, we are not talking about dedications: you are the person that informed my servants of the arrival of the old gentleman just come from Scotland; you described him, and made the same report to the minister of state.

wasp.

My lord, I only did my duty.

lord murray.

[Giving him a purse.

You have done me a service without knowing it: but I don’t consider the intention. Some folks say you meant to hurt, and have done good: there’s something for your service. But if ever from this time forward you so much as pronounce the name of that gentleman, or of Miss Lindon, I’ll throw you out at window,—away, be gone, sir.

wasp.

My lord, I return you thanks; everybody abuses me, and gives me money; I am certainly a cleverer fellow than I thought I was.

Edition: current; Page: [66]

SCENE III.

lord murray.

[Alone.

An old gentleman just arrived from Scotland; Miss Lindon born in the same country! alas! if it were possible to repair the cruel injuries my father did—if heaven would graciously permit—but I’ll go in. [To Polly, who comes out of Miss Lindon’s apartment.] Polly, were not you surprised at not seeing me for so long a time? two whole days! I should not have forgiven myself had I not been engaged in my dear Miss Lindon’s service: the ministers of state were at Windsor, and I was obliged to follow them there. Heaven surely inspired thee, when thou toldst me, Polly, the secret of her birth.

polly.

I’m frightened yet, my mistress so often forbade me: were I to give her the least uneasiness I should die with grief. Alas! sir, your absence this very day threw her into a fainting fit, and I believe I should have fainted too, if I had not exerted all my strength to assist her.

lord murray.

There, Polly, there’s something for the fainting fit you had like to have fallen into.

[Gives her money.

polly.

My lord, I thank you; I am not so high spirited as my mistress, who refuses to accept of anything; and pretends to be quite at her ease, when she is absolutely starving.

Edition: current; Page: [67]

lord murray.

Good heaven! the daughter of Montross reduced to poverty! how guilty am I! but I will repair everything, her condition shall soon be changed: why would she so long conceal it from me?

polly.

’Tis the only thing in which she deceived you, or I believe ever will.

lord murray.

But let us go in, I long to throw myself at her feet.

polly.

O my lord, not yet; she is now with an old gentleman, a very old gentleman, who is her countryman, and they are saying such tender things.

lord murray.

Who is this old gentleman? methinks I am already interested in his favor.

polly.

I know nothing of him.

lord murray.

Would to God he were the person I wish him to be! and what did they say to each other?

polly.

They began to grow very serious, the gentleman seemed to wish me out of the room, and so I came away.

Edition: current; Page: [68]

SCENE IV.

lady alton, lord murray, polly.

lady alton.

So, sir, at last I’ve caught you: thou base perfidious man, now sir, I am convinced of your inconstancy, and my own disgrace.

lord murray.

True, madam, you are so. [Aside.] what an unseasonable intrusion!

lady alton.

Perfidious monster!

lord murray.

A monster I may appear in your eyes, and I am glad of it; but perfidious I never was; ’tis not my character: before I loved another, I frankly told you I had no longer any regard for you.

lady alton.

After a promise of marriage, wretch, after so many protestations of love!

lord murray.

When I made those protestations I loved you, and when I promised to marry you, I meant to do so.

lady alton.

And why then did not you keep your word? what prevented you?

Edition: current; Page: [69]

lord murray.

Your character, your fiery temper and disposition: marriage was intended to make us happy, and I saw too plainly we were not made for each other.

lady alton.

And so you have quitted me for a wandering lady errant, a poor fortune-hunter.

lord murray.

No, madam, I leave you for softness and good-nature, for every grace, and every virtue.

lady alton.

But you are not yet possessed of her: know, traitor, I will be revenged, and speedily too.

lord murray.

I know your vindictive temper, know you have more envy than jealousy, more rage than tenderness, but you will be forced to honor and respect the woman I love.

lady alton.

I know the object of your affection, sir, better than you do; know I who she is; I know too who that stranger is, who came hither yesterday: yes sir, I am acquainted with it all, and so are they who have more power and authority than Lord Murray: that unworthy rival, for whom I am despised, shall soon be seized and taken from you.

SCENE V.

What does this fury mean? her jealousy is terrible: heaven grant I never may be jealous! she talks of having my dear girl seized, and pretends to know this stranger. What would she be at?

polly.

To tell you the truth, my mistress has been taken up by order of the government, and I too, I believe; and if it had not been for an honest fat man, who is goodness itself, and who gave in bail for us, we had both been in prison at this very time. They had made me swear not to tell you anything of it: but how can I conceal it from you?

lord murray.

What do I hear? misfortune on misfortune! your mistress’s very name I find is suspected. Alas! my family was born to be the destruction of hers: heaven, fortune, justice, and love would repair all, but guilt opposes me. It shall not, must not triumph; do not alarm my dear girl. I’ll go myself to the ministry! Try everything, do everything to save Edition: current; Page: [71] her. I’ll deny myself the happiness of seeing her till I can assure her of success. I fly, Polly, to serve her, and will return immediately. Tell her I have left only because I adore her.

[Going out.

polly.

This is a strange adventure. I see this world is nothing but a perpetual contest between the virtuous and the wicked, and we poor girls are always the sufferers.

SCENE VI.

montross, miss lindon.

[Nods to Polly, who goes out.

montross.

Every word you utter pierces my soul: born in Lochaber! persecuted, oppressed, and deserted! a woman with such noble sentiments!

miss lindon.

Those sentiments, sir, perhaps are owing to my misfortunes: had I been brought up in ease and luxury, my soul, which is fortified by adversity, had been weak and vain.

montross.

O thou art worthy of a nobler fate. You acknowledge to me you are sprung from one of the proscribed families, whose blood was shed on a scaffold in our civil wars. But still you conceal from me your name and birth.

Edition: current; Page: [72]

miss lindon.

Duty binds me to silence. My father himself was proscribed: they are even now in search of him, and were I to name perhaps I might destroy him. You inspire me, I own, with uncommon tenderness and respect, but I know you not, and I have everything to fear. You see I am myself suspected, and am a prisoner here. One word might ruin me.

montross.

One word perhaps might give me the greatest comfort: but tell me only what age you were of when you parted from your father, who was afterwards so unhappy?

miss lindon.

I was then but five years old.

montross.

Great God, have mercy on me! everything she says contributes to throw new light on my dark paths! O providence, do not withdraw thy goodness from me!

miss lindon.

You weep, sir, alas! nor can I help joining my tears with yours.

montross.

[Wiping his eyes.

Go on, I conjure you: after your father had quitted his family to see it no more, how long did you remain with your mother?

miss lindon.

I was ten years old when she died in my arms, oppressed with grief and misery, and after she had heard that my brother was killed in battle.

Edition: current; Page: [73]

montross.

O, I faint; what a dreadful moment! O thou dear, unhappy wife, and thou more fortunate son, to die without seeing so much misery! do you remember this picture?

[Takes a picture out of his pocket.

miss lindon.

What do I see? is this a dream? surely ’tis my mother’s picture.

montross.

It is, it is your mother; and I am that unhappy father who is condemned to death, whose trembling arms now embrace thee.

miss lindon.

Do I live? where am I? O, sir, behold me at your knees: this is the first happy moment of my life: O, my father! alas! how darest you venture hither? I tremble for you, even whilst I am thus happy in your sight.

montross.

My dearest child, you know the misfortunes of our family; you know that the house of Murray, still jealous of ours, plunged us into these calamities. I have lost all: one friend alone remained, who by his interest and power might have restored me, and had promised it; but on my arrival here, I find that friend is dead, that I am searched after in Scotland, and a price put on my head. ’Tis, no doubt, the son of my old enemy who still persecutes me: I will die by his hand, or be revenged on him.

miss lindon.

And come you then with a resolution to kill Lord Murray?

Edition: current; Page: [74]

montross.

Yes: I will avenge you and my family, or die. I only hazard a life already devoted to the scaffold.

miss lindon.

O fortune, in what new horrors dost thou involve me! what must I do? O my father!

montross.

My dearest daughter! how cruel is thy fate to be born of such a wretched father!

miss lindon.

O sir, I am much more unhappy than you think me: are you resolved on this fatal enterprise?

montross.

Ay, to death.

miss lindon.

O, my dear father, let me conjure you by that life which you gave me, by your misfortunes, by my own, which are, perhaps, still greater, do not expose me to the dread of losing you; have pity on me, spare your own life, and preserve mine.

Do not expose your precious life, but quit this dangerous place, dangerous for us both: yes, I am resolved I will renounce all for my dear father’s sake. I am ready to follow you, I will accompany you, sir, to some far distant island, and there these Edition: current; Page: [75] hands shall labor to support you. It is my duty, and I will perform it: ’tis done, away.

montross.

I must not then avenge you?

miss lindon.

No, sir, that vengeance would destroy me: come, let us be gone.

montross.

Well, I submit. The father’s love prevails over all: since you have the courage to accompany me, I will go: I will prepare everything for our departure from London within this hour: be ready: one more embrace, and farewell.

SCENE VII.

miss lindon, polly.

miss lindon.

’Tis all over, Polly: I shall never see Lord Murray again.

polly.

Indeed, madam, but you will; he’ll be here in a few minutes: he is but just gone from hence.

miss lindon.

Gone from hence! and not see me; this is worse than all. O my unhappy father! why did we not go before?

polly.

If he had not been interrupted by that detestable Lady Alton.

Edition: current; Page: [76]

miss lindon.

What! did he meet her here after all to insult me! after leaving me for three days without so much as writing! to affront me so grossly. O if my life were not necessary to my dear father, this moment would I part from it.

polly.

But hear me, madam, I swear to you my lord.—

miss lindon.

Perfidious wretch! but all men are so. O my poor father! hereafter I will think on none but thee.

polly.

On my soul, madam, you are wrong; my lord is not false or perfidious, but one of the best of men: he loves you from his soul, and has given me convincing proofs of it.

miss lindon.

Nature should be superior to love. I know not whither I am going, or what will become of me; but certainly I can never be more miserable than I am at present.

polly.

My dear mistress, you will hear nothing; recover your spirits a little: I tell you, you are beloved.

miss lindon.

O Polly, will you follow me?

polly.

To the end of the world, madam: but hear me; you are beloved, indeed you are.

Edition: current; Page: [h]

Edition: current; Page: [77]

miss lindon.

Let me alone; talk no more to me of my lord: alas! if he did love me, I must leave him—that gentleman you saw with me—

polly.

Well—

miss lindon.

Come in, and I’ll tell you all: tears and sighs will not let me speak: follow me, and get everything ready for our departure.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

miss lindon, freeport, fabrice.

fabrice.

Polly, I find, is packing up your things; you are going to leave us: you can’t imagine, madam, the concern it gives me.

miss lindon.

My dear landlord, and you, sir, to whom I am so much indebted for your unmerited generosity, I am sorry it is not in my power to return it; but be assured I shall never, whilst I have life, forget you.

freeport.

What is all this, what is all this? if you like us, why do you leave us? you aren’t afraid of anything are you? a girl, like you, can have nothing to fear.

Edition: current; Page: [78]

fabrice.

Mr. Freeport, the old gentleman, who it seems is her countryman, is going too. The lady wept, and he wept, at parting; and I am ready to weep too.

freeport.

Ridiculous! I never wept in my life: our eyes were never given us for that purpose: I own I’m sorry. Though she is a little proud, as I told you, yet she is such a good creature, one can’t help being concerned at losing her. If you go, madam, you must write to me; I shall always be glad to do you any service: perhaps we may meet again one day or other, who knows! but be sure you don’t forget to write to me.

miss lindon.

I assure you, sir, I will; and if ever fortune—

freeport.

Fabrice, I’m sure this woman is well-born. I shall expect a letter from you, but don’t put too much wit into it.

fabrice.

You will forgive me, madam, but I really don’t think you are at liberty to go hence, as Mr. Freeport is bail for you, and must lose five hundred pounds if you leave us.

miss lindon.

O heaven! another distress! another humiliation! must I then remain here? and my lord—my father too.—

freeport.

[To Fabrice.

O don’t let that stop her—there is something in her that charms me—but let her go as soon as she Edition: current; Page: [79] pleases: you don’t suppose I value five hundred pounds. Hark’ee, Fabrice, put five hundred more into her portmanteau. I beg, madam, [to Miss Lindon] you will go whenever it is agreeable to you; write to me, and let me see you when you return; for I have really conceived a great esteem and affection for you.

SCENE II.

lord murrayand servants at one part of the stage,miss lindonand the rest at the other.

lord murray.

[To his servants.

Stay you here: and do you run to the court of chancery, and bring me those parchments as soon as they are finished: go you and get things ready at my new house. [Pulls a paper out of his pocket, and reads.] What happiness it will be to make her happy!

miss lindon.

[To Polly.

O Polly, I am distracted at the sight of him.

freeport.

This lord always comes in unseasonably: he is handsome and well-made, and yet I don’t like him: but what’s that to me? I have certainly some regard for her; but I am not in love with her.—Madam, your servant.

miss lindon.

I shall not go, sir, without paying my respects to you.

Edition: current; Page: [80]

freeport.

O pray, madam, no ceremony; perhaps it may affect me too much. Don’t think I’m in love with you, madam; but I should be glad to see you once more before you go: I shall be in the house, and must see you set out. Go, Fabrice, and help the good gentleman above. I find I have a prodigious regard for this young lady.

SCENE III.

lord murray, miss lindon.

lord murray.

At length once more I am happy in the sight of all I hold dear on earth. What a house is this for Miss Lindon! but one more worthy of her is prepared: you look down and weep: for heaven’s sake what has happened to you? who was that surly looking fellow talking with you? if he is the cause of your uneasiness, he shall soon repent it.

miss lindon.

Alas! my lord, he is one of the best of men; one who has taken pity on my misfortunes; who has never abandoned, never insulted me; one who never talked to my rival without deigning to look on me; one who, if he had loved me, would not have let three days pass without writing.

lord murray.

Believe me, when I tell you, I had rather die than merit the least of those cruel reproaches. I absented myself but for your sake, thought of nothing but you, and have served you in spite of yourself: if, on Edition: current; Page: [81] my return here, I found that clamorous revengeful woman, could I help it? I went back again immediately to counteract her fatal designs. My God, not write to you!

miss lindon.

No.

lord murray.

I see she has intercepted my letters; her baseness increases, if possible, my passion; may it recall yours! how unkind was it in you to conceal from me your name and condition! a condition so unworthy of you.

miss lindon.

Who disclosed them to you?

lord murray.

[Pointing to Polly.

She, your confederate.

miss lindon.

Did you betray me?

polly.

You betrayed yourself, madam; I served you.

miss lindon.

You know me then; you know what hatred hath always divided our families: your father was the cause of mine being condemned to death; he reduced me to that wretched state which I endeavored to conceal from you; and you, his son, now dare avow a passion for me!

lord murray.

I do; I adore you; ’tis what I owe you: my love shall repair the injuries my father did: ’tis the justice Edition: current; Page: [82] of providence: my heart, my fortune, and my life, are at your disposal: let us unite these hostile names. Here is a contract of marriage; shall I hope to see it executed?

miss lindon.

Alas! my lord, it is impossible; I am going this moment to leave you forever.

lord murray.

Going? to leave me forever? sooner shall you behold me perish at your feet: am I at last rejected then?

polly.

I say, madam, you must not go; you are always making some desperate resolution: but I shall bring you to yourself again. My lord, you must second me.

lord murray.

Who could inspire you with this cruel design to fly from me, to render all my cares abortive?